


Jewels

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Harems, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pseudo-History, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Spanish National Team, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fernando and Sergio meet in a harem of a powerful sultan as concubines. But where will the life in the palace full of intrigues, jealousy and people thirsty for power lead them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for a long time at footballkink2 - I finally managed to complete it.
> 
> The sultan is not named a good half through the story, but it's Zidane.
> 
> Also, for the sake of the story, let's pretend Javi and his girlfriend didn't break up.

In a strange, almost twisted way, Sergio loves it when there is a new addition to the harem. It stirs the heavy, still, suffocating atmosphere. The days pass slowly there, all of them identical, resembling a still life painted by an old master – very lifelike, but not real. He and the others don’t live, they just wait. Wait for the only thing that ever changes, the choice. Who the sultan will choose in the evening.  
  
At the beginning, the concubines liked to bet on it. Then the betting became a part of the routine and ceased to be exciting.  
  
But when someone new comes, for a while old things get a new coat of paint, they look exciting again. Of course, deep inside, Sergio knows that it is bad. That there is yet another boy or man who loses his freedom, his dignity, and is soon to lose all hope. But he's accepted his own fate a long time ago, so long that he can’t relate to those boys anymore.  
  
In the same twisted way, Sergio is also proud to be an exception. He has been a part of the harem for years and he still gets called to the sultan’s rooms regularly. It doesn’t happen to the others. After the first few months, they are mostly forgotten, called up only now and then when the sultan remembers them, or never again.   
  
Some of them are glad. Some are offended. Sergio doesn’t know how he would feel if it happened to him. Maybe he would be contented, happy to live a calm, monotonous life in relative safety and comfort, same way as Mesut. Mesut was the sultan’s whim, the moment he saw him he knew he had to have him, but forgot about him as soon as he got another jewel. This is how the sultan calls his concubines. Jewels. He collects them the way some people collect statues, paintings or porcelain vases.   
  
Or maybe he would be offended, bitter, furious even, the way Jesús is. Jealous of everyone in the harem, of everyone who leaves for the night and returns in the morning, jealous of the marks on their body, of the distinctive musk scent they bring with them, of the way they rest their tired body by one of the pools and drift off to sleep.  
  
The new boy catches Sergio’s attention as soon as the guards bring him in. It’s not his beauty that is so exceptional; in the harem they are all beautiful. Beauty became a standard in such way that the most beautiful things are not worth looking at twice for Sergio, and the common ones repel him. But what makes Sergio frown, ever so slightly as not to risk getting wrinkles on his forehead, is that there are only two sorts of men in the harem. The strong ones, with tan, muscular bodies and long limbs, the ones he counts himself between. And then the fragile, slender ones with delicate faces, the likes of Jesús. But this one is something in between, he has the best of both and this makes Sergio slightly worried and excited at the same time.   
  
The boy takes a look around, seemingly astonished and a bit confused when he sees the expensive rugs, tapestries, silk-covered pillows and oil lamps adorning the vast room. He makes a few steps when the realization sinks in and he falls on his knees.

 

***

 

Since the moment the slave trader granted the rights to his life to a man in exquisite clothes, Fernando felt a tiny sparkle of hope light up inside of him. He hoped he would avoid work in the quarries in the desert, or any hard work, because he’s sure that he wouldn’t survive for more than a week. But now he realizes where he is and what the man bought him for. Rather  _who_. He understands that his work here definitely won’t be about washing dirty dishes.  
  
“Welcome to the golden cage,” a man laying on a low divan says with a half-amused, half-compassionate smile.  
  
Fernando gives him a frightened look. The man chuckles and chews on a fig.  
  
“You look expensive,” he notes.  
  
“Are you talking about people like they are things again, Pedrito?” another man stalks closer to him and steals one of the figs.  
  
There is something false in his voice, the diminutive he uses is almost derisive, but he’s not entirely hateful. It seems to be just his attitude and Pedro doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. It must be a game they play with each other.  
  
“I thought we _were_ practically things, Jesúsito,” he answers in the same tone of voice and pulls the plate with figs closer to him. “Some more used than the others, isn’t that so?”  
  
Jesús purses his lips.  
  
“When will you two stop bickering?” another man asks. “You know that I am the crown jewel here, don’t you?”  
  
Compared to Pedro and Jesús, he looks like he’s not playing any game. He is sure of his words and the other two seem to acknowledge them.  
  
“Of course, Sergio, we know that you are special,” Pedro says and stretches out on the divan lazily. “We haven’t placed our bets yet.”  
  
“Bets?” Fernando asks without actually wanting to speak.  
  
“Oh, so he can talk!” Pedro smiles. “Bets, sweet thing. Guess who the sultan is going to call to his rooms tonight, and you get a massage from whomever you choose. Want to try your luck?”  
  
Fernando just gulps.   
  
“I am a sure bet, you know,” Sergio smirks. “But feel no pressure.”  
  
“What about him?” Jesús asks and looks at Fernando with his piercing blue eyes. “He’s new.”  
  
“Exactly, he’s new, the sultan never calls them before they at least look presentable, which he right now doesn’t. Take no offense... what is your name, actually?” Pedro asks.  
  
“Fernando,” Fernando whispers.  
  
“Fernando. Place your bet, will you?”  
  
Fernando doesn’t want to play this game, he wants to curl up in the corner and die, but he knows they wouldn’t let him. He is a new toy for them and all he can do is to wait out until they lose interest in him. After all, their attention is probably nothing compared to what awaits him later.  
  
He looks around the room. Pedro follows his gaze.  
  
“There are all, except of Mesut, but don’t bother with him, he never gets called anyway,” he says.  
  
Fernando is too shy to look at the others, he just wants it to be over so that he can find a place where he could calm down a little bit. He points his finger at one of the boys and feels the blush creeping up his cheeks. His mother taught him that pointing fingers at other people was impolite.  
  
“Javi?” Jesús laughs. “Did he seriously bet on Javi?”  
  
“Nobody ever bets on Javi,” Pedro says. “But the odds are still better than yours.”  
  
Jesús frowns at him.   
  
“Well, I’m for... Casemiro!” Pedro says. “Someone younger tonight, to spice things up.”  
  
Fernando doesn’t listen anymore, he feels dizzy and doesn’t think it’s because he was standing under the hot sun since early morning.   
  
Suddenly one of the guards walks in and everything falls silent for a moment. It feels like magic, like the time suddenly stops. He points at one of the boys and waits until the boy joins him. Fernando bites his lip when he realizes that sooner or later, probably sooner, the guard will point at him.   
  
“Well, what happened to our crown jewel?” Jesús chuckles and looks at Sergio who has an offended expression on his face. “You lost your shine, it seems.”  
  
“Nacho!” Pedro laughs. “But I was the closest.”

 

***

 

The bedroom is a smaller room and the stone walls without tapestries and floor without rugs make it slightly cooler. There are four beds, standing in line. Sergio leads Fernando in and points to the penultimate in the row.   
  
“This one is yours,” he says like Fernando walked there on his own, willingly, like he should be glad to have a bed.  
  
Truth is that only yesterday he would have given everything for a bed like this one, with soft pillows and clean sheets and curtains around it, but now he knows that the price he will have to pay for it is too high.  
  
“The one next to yours is Nacho’s, and the one at the door belongs unfortunately to Jesús.”  
  
Fernando’s eyes are stuck on the bed while Sergio is talking, so when he turns around he almost falls back on the bed. Sergio is standing with his back to him, bent over a basin filled with water, only that he is completely naked, his clothes thrown over the armrest of a chair in the corner of the room. Then he turns around, water drops flying from the ends of his hair, some of them landing on Fernando's heated skin. Sergio laughs when he sees Fernando's shocked expression.  
  
“I sleep naked, sweetheart, I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “If you do, use the curtains.”  
  
Fernando gulps and averts his gaze. He washes his face in the basin and tries to splash some water on his sunburnt back. Then he lays on the bed and closes the curtains.

 

***

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night and it takes him a while to remember where he is. There are steps and voices sounding from behind the curtains around his bed and he peeks out through the gap between them.  
  
Two guards half lay, half throw Nacho on the bed and walk out without a single word, without looking back. Pedro’s words about them being practically things now make much more sense.  
  
A moment later, the bed on the other side creaks and Sergio gets up, throwing a silk nightgown over his shoulders and crouching next to Nacho’s bed. He’s moving quietly and he’s whispering, as if he doesn’t want to wake anybody up, as if this is a thing that should be dealt with in the darkness, in secret.  
  
“Hey,” Sergio calls quietly. “Can you hear me? Nacho, talk to me!”  
  
Nacho makes a small sound, something between an affirmation and whimper. Sergio suddenly turns his head and Fernando startles, almost tearing the curtains down.  
  
“This is not a show, sweetheart,” Sergio hisses at him. “Better fetch some water, if you’re so curious.”  
  
Fernando feels his limbs shaking but gets up nevertheless and runs to the main room. There is still a carafe with water standing on one of the tables. He grabs it together with a glass and goes back to the bedroom.   
  
He finds Sergio sitting on Nacho’s bed, whispering something to him. Unsure about what to do, he pours the water in the glass and outstretches his hand. Sergio helps Nacho sit up and in that moment, the torch lights up Nacho’s face and Fernando almost drops the glass. His lip is swollen and split, there is a bruise on his cheek, a stream of already dried blood under his nose and fingerprints around his neck.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispers and takes the glass from Fernando.  
  
Fernando even forgets to lower his hand.  
  
“I’m fine, Sergio,” Nacho says then. “Go to bed.”  
  
“Really?” Sergio asks.  
  
Nacho nods and hands Fernando the empty glass.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says.  
  
“S-sorry?” Fernando chokes out.  
  
“Sorry you had to see it,” Nacho says. “It’s not what you should see on your first day here.”  
  
“It would be no better on the second day,” Sergio mutters and gets up.   
  
Then he lays a hand on Fernando's shoulder.  
  
“Go to bed, sweetheart. He’s not going to die,” he says.  
  
Fernando is already pulling his curtains closed when he hears Sergio’s low voice again.  
  
“Death would be too easy.”


	2. Two

Fernando wakes up late. He’s not used to not being woken up early, so it surprises him when he sees how high the sun already is. The other beds are empty. He walks out of the bedroom and wanders about the harem for a while until he hears voices. He follows them and finds the others lounging by a pool with warm water.  
  
Sergio is having breakfast with Pedro, both laughing about something. Jesús is swimming in the pool lazily, yelling at Javi who is splashing water at him, laughing heartily. Mesut is reading a book and a bunch of the younger ones are sitting together in one corner, playing some game Fernando has never seen before.  
  
“You’re quite a sleeper,” Sergio calls. “Hungry?”  
  
Fernando is. He hasn’t eaten anything since the previous morning, first he wasn’t given anything, and then he felt sick of this place and his future so much that he couldn’t swallow even a piece of bread. He even considered not eating anything anymore and starving himself to death rather than living here. But in the daylight things don’t look so dark. He thinks that there is plenty of time for death, and that there are better ways to die.  
  
There is more food on the silver plates than he has seen in the last month altogether. He takes some fruit and fresh cheese and a piece of bread.   
  
Nacho enters the room and smiles at Fernando before carefully submerging himself in the pool with a deep sigh. The blood is washed off his face now, only the bruise and split lip remind Fernando of the previous night. He now understands how things are here. There are things that happen in the darkness and that are not to be mentioned in the light. 

 

***

 

The day passes surprisingly quickly. Fernando takes a swim in the pool, washing all the rests of dirt, sweat and sand off his skin and his hair. He dresses up in clean and pretty clothes they bring for him. Eats some more food, still careful about not eating too much as he’s not used to it lately.  
  
He doesn’t talk much, to anyone. He finds most of the boys nice, even Jesús and Pedro are not bad in his opinion, maybe just too cynical. What bothers him the most is the way they are resigned, accustomed to the life here, the way they think about themselves. Though it might be just the fact that for most of his life, Fernando wasn’t rich, but he was free. He only lost his freedom a few weeks ago. Maybe a few years later, he will be like these boys.  
  
It scares him and comforts him at the same time.  
  
When in the evening the guard appears, Fernando's heart stops beating for a moment. He can’t imagine what he will do if he points at him. He’s not ready, not yet, and maybe he never will be, but it’s soon, too soon for him to give himself to someone whom he’s never even seen in his life. And he knows there will be no way around it than to accept it, unless he wants to lose his life.  
  
But the guard doesn’t point at him this time, he points at Sergio who actually smiles, like his pride is restored, and with a wink leaves with the guard.  
  
“I won!” Jesús announces contentedly. “I want my prize.”  
  
He lets his eyes wander around the room and then points at Fernando.  
  
“You,” he says and lowers his voice into a pseudo-seductive whisper. “I want you.”  
  
Fernando blinks and opens his mouth.  
  
“Come on, you should learn it,” Jesús says. “You will need it sooner or later.”  
  
He takes off his clothes and sprawls on one of the divans shamelessly. Fernando gulps and comes closer. He has never touched a man, not in this way, and he feels the blush creeping up his cheeks again. Jesús rolls his eyes.  
  
“It’s just a massage, silly, there’s nothing bad about it.”  
  
Fernando gathers all his courage and grabs a small jar with oil that lays on the table next to the divan. It smells heavily of roses. He pours a bit in his palm and warms it up. When he touches Jesús’ back hesitantly, Jesús lays his head on his forearms and looks at him.  
  
“No wonder that the sultan wants Sergio. Sergio’s mouth can do wonders, you know what I mean?” he smiles enigmatically. “For example Javi can’t do that, his teeth get in the way.”  
  
Javi gives him an annoyed look.  
  
“Same like when you try to speak,” he says. “Your stupidity gets in the way.”  
  
“Ouch!” Jesús laughs. “Don’t bite, Javi!”  
  
“Don’t believe him,” Javi says to Fernando. “He’s just teasing you. We’re not allowed to sleep with each other. If all he says was true, his pretty head wouldn’t be on his neck anymore.”  
  
Fernando looks at him. Javi gets up and walks up to him. When he touches Fernando's hand, Fernando flinches, but then he lets Javi take it.  
  
“You have to... like this,” he explains and presses down more than Fernando would ever dare.  
  
Jesús groans contentedly. Fernando follows Javi’s hands while Jesús keeps making slightly exaggerated noises.  
  
“They bought you on the market, didn’t they?” Javi asks. “But you look like you’re not used to hard work.”   
  
Fernando nods and looks at him shyly.  
  
“My father was a merchant,” he says. “He lost everything on the sea when the ship with his goods sank. So he had debts and when he died, I had nothing to pay them with.”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“You... you were...” Fernando starts.  
  
“Ah, no,” Javi shakes his head. “War. I was a captive.”  
  
“You used to be a soldier?” Fernando looks at him with wide eyes.  
  
“That’s why he has such a pretty body,” Jesús purrs.   
  
“You know what, Jesús?” Javi says and slaps Jesús over the bare back. “What if you for once shut your mouth?”

 

***

 

The palace doesn’t have many doors, not in the proper sense of the word. In the suffocating heat it is better to let the air move at least as much as it can move. Instead of doors, there are curtains, light and semi-transparent, or made of long strings of beads that rustle with every movement.  
  
The light curtain moves with the air Sergio stirred and for a moment his eyes meet those of a young boy sitting behind it, bent over a heavy book. The boy’s eyes narrow, the same way they do every time he looks at one of the concubines. It isn’t a look of jealousy, it’s rather close to disgust. It doesn’t bother Sergio; as long as he has his privileges, everyone can look at him however they want. Everyone, including the sultan’s adoptive son.  
  
The only door that closes behind him is that of the sultan’s bedroom. He doesn’t feel anything, and if he does, it’s more good than bad. He’s not nervous, not anymore. Not afraid even, despite seeing some of the others come back, or rather be carried back in even worse state than Nacho was the previous night. He knows the sultan won’t do those things to him. He’s not there for that.   
  
“Sergio,” the sultan smiles, a smile that is almost genuine.  
  
After all, it would be impossible if after such a long time there wasn’t any relation between them, whatever this relation is.  
  
Sergio falls to his knees and bows his head. He can only see the sultan’s shoes now, moving slowly on the soft rug.  
  
“Get up and take off your clothes,” he says.  
  
Sergio does. It’s not just that the sultan wants to see him naked as soon as possible, it’s also a precaution. When he’s naked, it’s clear that he doesn’t carry any weapon. Only then the guard at the door leaves.  
  
He still remembers the first time he was in this bedroom, still a boy, barely sixteen. Remembers how frightened and stiff he was, remembers the pain and his hands clutching the sheets so hard that his knuckles went white. The sultan gave him a cup of wine to drink then, which Sergio suspects was spiked with poppies. Everything was much easier then. He didn’t care anymore, he just felt warm and dazed.  
  
A few more times and he didn’t care even without poppies.  
  
He settles on the bed without even needing to be told to do it. He smiles when he feels the older man’s hands run down his abs, admiring his body like it’s new to him. He spreads his legs tentatively and hears a low chuckle above him.  
  
“You’re not here for that.”   
  
Sergio’s mind protests but he swallows the words before they can reach his lips. He might be the only one coming here hoping for pleasure and it devastates him when he’s denied it. Nonetheless, he reaches down and wraps a hand around the sultan’s member. He notices that it takes longer to get it up than it used to, but mentioning it would of course mean losing his head on the spot. The hands on his body creep up to his neck and then clench around his jaw, forcing his mouth open.  
  
Sergio knows the drill, he knows how to make it faster, the years of practice taught him well where to press, where to lick, and he’s learned that if he deep-throats him a few times, he’s sure to bring him over the edge sooner. The sultan comes and pulls out, closing Sergio’s mouth and holding his fingers on his lips until Sergio swallows obediently.  
  
“You’re an artist, Sergio,” the sultan praises and looks at Sergio. “You deserve a reward.”  
  
The corners of Sergio’s mouth twitch. He knows well what will follow. The sultan moves to an armchair opposite to the bed and pours himself more wine.   
  
“Make yourself feel good,” he says.

Sergio doesn’t need anything more than this permission. He reaches for the oil next to the bed, slicks up his hands and reaches for his cock. He strokes it slowly, closing his eyes and forgetting that he isn’t alone. His breath hitches a little and he arches his back, reaching down with his other hand and pushing two fingers inside.  
  
“You can take more,” he hears a breathy voice and adds the third finger because pleasing himself is a privilege he doesn’t want to be taken from him.  
  
He keeps twisting his fingers, feeling the warmth spreading in the pit of his stomach. He moans and increases his pace. His hips snap off the bed and in that moment a firm hand around his base stops him in his tracks. He lets out a whimper and opens his eyes.  
  
“Not yet,” the sultan says and sits between Sergio’s legs. “I suppose you’ve already met my new jewel.”  
  
Sergio nods despite fuming inside. He wants to come now, not talk about some freckled boy whom he’s not interested in at all.  
  
“You know, I’m going on a campaign with my army,” the sultan says like they are talking during dinner. “When I come back, I want him to be ready.”  
  
Sergio just blinks. His clouded mind can’t understand what it’s supposed to mean. He can focus only on one thing.  
  
“I want you to prepare him for all I could possibly want from him,” the sultan says. “Theoretically, of course, you know my interdiction.”  
  
Sergio nods frantically. He can do that, sure he can,  _just let go already..._  
  
“He pleases me, you’ll get rewarded. He doesn’t, I’ll punish you both. Give it your best, Sergio.”  
  
He waits for a moment before letting go of Sergio’s cock. Sergio doesn’t even need to touch himself anymore, he just crooks the fingers inside him and comes with a choked sob. His body feels drained and boneless and for now he doesn’t even care that he’s probably in big trouble.

 

***

 

The sultan looks up when his adoptive son walks in the dining room.   
  
“Good morning, Sergi,” he says and helps himself to another piece of melon.  
  
Sergi sits opposite to him and looks at him.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you last night, but you were... busy.”  
  
There’s a hint of blush on his cheeks and a hint of sarcasm in his voice. No embarrassment on the sultan’s face.  
  
“Speaking about it, maybe it’s time for you to learn about certain things, Sergi. And books can’t help in that matter,” he smiles. “For example Sergio could...”  
  
“I would rather die,” Sergi snaps. “Than let one of them touch me!”  
  
“Now, don’t get overdramatic,” the sultan frowns.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about something else.”  
  
“And that is?”  
  
“The campaign in the West.”  
  
“What about it?” the sultan asks.  
  
“I want to go.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I am ready, I...”  
  
“I said no!” the sultan snaps. “Do I need to remind you that you are my only blood relative? That if I die, you are the only one to rule this country? I’m not going to let you risk your life like that when it’s not necessary.”  
  
Sergi presses his lips together but says nothing. The sultan sighs and drinks a bit of tea.  
  
“Besides, someone needs to rule while I’m away. And I can assure you that it’s much more difficult than wielding a sword,” he says in a conciliatory manner.   
  
The rest of the breakfast they eat in silence. A day later, the sultan departs with the army into the West, his mind sometimes wandering to the newest jewel that is awaiting him on his return.


	3. Three

It doesn’t take long for the others to notice that there is something bothering Sergio. They question him about the previous night, but he is not very talkative.  
  
“So the sultan is going on a campaign?” Pedro raises his brows. “Sergio, how are you going to survive it?”  
  
“Survive what?” Sergio frowns.  
  
“Well, this could take months, even years,” Pedro shrugs.   
  
“And we all know you can’t go without touching your cock that long,” Jesús nods. “Poor boy.”  
  
“Go to hell,” Sergio mumbles.  
  
His eyes wander to Fernando who is quietly eating his breakfast, pretending he can’t hear them. The gravity of the situation sinks in only now. From Fernando's reactions Sergio has already judged that he knows absolutely nothing about the things Sergio is supposed to teach him. And he freaks out at a mere mention of them.  
  
He waits for the others to finish breakfast and retire to the common room. Then he approaches Fernando who is still sitting in the corner by himself.  
  
“Fernando?” he asks.  
  
Fernando lifts his head and looks at him. Sergio bites his lip.  
  
“I... I would like to talk to you about something.”  
  
Fernando nods and tilts his head.  
  
“Not here,” Sergio says. “Let’s go for a walk.”  
  
“A walk?” Fernando blinks.  
  
“In the gardens,” Sergio nods. “At least I can show them to you.”  
  
Fernando gets up and follows him. In the common room, Jesús is sulking because he challenged Javi for a game of backgammon and lost for the millionth time.  
  
“I thought soldiers weren’t supposed to be clever,” he says.  
  
“Then you would be a good soldier,” Javi grins.  
  
“You two!” Jesús exclaims then, looking at Sergio and Fernando. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Since when do we have to tell you, Jesúsito?” Sergio asks.  
  
“You know I have to know everything,” Jesús says and folds his arms.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Sergio says. “You know what, play with Nacho. He’ll let you win so that he doesn’t have to listen to your whining all night.”

 

***

 

The gardens of the palace are immense, full of palm trees, exotic plants and animals. They are framed by high walls and Fernando immediately starts to look for an escape way. Then he realizes that if there was one, Sergio and the others would have already discovered it throughout the years, and used it.  
  
They pass a huge fountain when they see a boy in exquisite dress approaching them from the other side of the palace.  
  
“Bow!” Sergio hisses and bows deeply.  
  
Fernando does the same. The boy passes them without acknowledging them, like they are a part of the garden same as the plants and flamingos.  
  
“Who is he?” Fernando asks.  
  
“Our prince,” Sergio says.”The sultan’s adoptive son.”  
  
“Adoptive?” Fernando raises his brows. “He doesn’t have his own children?”  
  
“Not anymore. He has no family but Sergi,” Sergio says. “Typhoid fever, years ago. Sergi is the son of the sultan’s sister. He was the only one who survived it.”  
  
Sergio still remembers it and that fact actually reminds him of how long he has been here. The sultan came back from the campaign in Asia to find his wife, sisters and younger children already dead. The others succumbed within the next few days. He himself went to the country, to save his life and to grieve. When he came back, the whole family was gone. Except for a boy nobody cared about until then, until he suddenly became the sultan’s only blood relative and thus almost certainly the heir to the throne. The thorn in the neighboring countries’ kings’ sides, too. One war, or a few drops of poison in the sultan’s cup and everything could be theirs, if there was nobody else to raise to the throne. But there still was, standing between them and the throne, and he was refusing to die.   
  
“I’d say he is the proof of how easy you can become a heir to a country like this,” Sergio says. “But then I’m not sure  _easy_  is the right word here. He saw the gates of Heaven, who knows why the angels sent him back.”  
  
He sits on a marble bench and looks at Fernando.  
  
“You know I was visiting the sultan yesterday.”  
  
Fernando nods and sits next to him.  
  
“He talked to me about you.”  
  
“About me?” Fernando asks, eyes glimmering with fear.  
  
“I understood he payed a lot of money for you. That you are somehow special. And he wouldn’t want to regret his... investment.”  
  
“What does it mean?”  
  
Sergio takes a deep breath.  
  
“He asked me to explain to you what he expects from you. So that you’re ready when he comes back.”  
  
Fernando pales so much that his freckles are now clearly visible. Sergio pats his shoulder.  
  
“I know how you feel,” he says, and it’s in fact a lie – he doesn’t know how Fernando is feeling. He only remembers being scared for the first time, but knowing that he had to survive, whatever it should take.  
  
“I... I can’t... I’ve never...” Fernando chokes out.  
  
“I know. But there is no way back, Fernando. The only way is through. I want to help you.”  
  
“Does this mean that we will...”   
  
“No!” Sergio stops him. “No, we will only talk. We cannot...”  
  
“I know,” Fernando nods. “Javi told me.”  
  
“We’ll start from the easier things, don’t worry,” Sergio smiles. “It seems like we will have plenty of time for it.”

 

***

 

The easier things end with entering the sultan’s bedroom and kneeling down for Fernando.  
  
“Then he will tell you to get up and take off your clothes,” Sergio says calmly and wants to explain the next step.  
  
Fernando freaks out. They are in their bedroom and the only luck is that Fernando is sitting on the bed, otherwise he would probably hurt himself with the abrupt movement he makes.  
  
“Alright, listen!” Sergio hisses. “He does it mainly because he wants to be sure you are not carrying any weapons. Then the guard at the door will leave.”  
  
The information that not only the sultan, but also a guard will look at him naked, certainly doesn’t calm Fernando down.  
  
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Nacho chuckles. “Jesús gets naked all the time.”  
  
“Jesús is an idiot, Nacho,” Sergio sighs. “But really, Fernando, you’ll just take off your clothes, nobody’s even touching you yet!”  
  
“I can’t do it!” Fernando shakes his head wildly and flees the bedroom.  
  
Sergio falls on the bed, completely exhausted. A few moments later, Javi walks in and looks at him.  
  
“Let me just say that I haven’t yet seen a worse teacher than you, Sergio,” he says. “If he was scared before, now he’s completely petrified.”  
  
“You have better ideas?” Sergio growls. “He can’t even get naked, for God’s sake!”  
  
“He is just imagining the worst things possible,” Javi shrugs. “You have to show him that it’s not that bad.”  
  
“Show? Did you say show?” Sergio snaps. “Do I have to remind you...”  
  
“What the sultan doesn’t see won’t hurt him,” Javi smiles.  
  
“Yeah,” Nacho nods and looks at Sergio. “And until you have your dick in his ass, you’re not breaking the law, are you?”  
  
“Just go to hell, all of you, and mainly him!” Sergio yells and runs out of the room.

 

***

 

It takes three days for Fernando and Sergio to calm down enough to continue. When Sergio cools down, he realizes that Javi is probably right, and also realizes that Javi also knows how to calm Fernando down, which is a skill that he himself doesn’t have.  
  
So he thinks that maybe nobody ever bets on Javi because Javi is no wonder in the bedroom, but there are still certain things he could teach Fernando better than Sergio can.  
  
“So,” Sergio says and sits on the bed. “Do you think we can move any further today?”  
  
Fernando bites his lip and nods, even though the nod doesn’t look too convincing.  
  
“Good,” Sergio smiles. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. Just do what he says. Don’t think, just do it.”  
  
“But what if he...” Fernando starts.  
  
“If he asks you to take off your clothes, you’ll do it. If he asks you to wash his feet, you’ll do it. If he asks you to ride a flamingo, you’ll do it!” Sergio snaps.  
  
“Sergio!” Javi growls and shoots a warning look at him. “You’re not helping it.”  
  
Fernando keeps watching them with his eyes wide open. Sergio goes to the door, looks out to check that everyone is still by the pool because there’s no better place to be in the afternoon heat, and then comes back and folds his arms.  
  
“Clothes off, Javi!” he barks.  
  
To Fernando's horror, Javi gets up calmly and sheds his clothes like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Fernando lowers his eyes and looks at his knees instead.   
  
“Look at him!” Sergio commands him, his voice now more stern than Fernando had ever heard him and he gets the game finally.  
  
Sergio is playing the sultan now.  
  
Fernando slowly lifts his eyes and he knows that he’s blushing, but Javi doesn’t look embarrassed at all and Sergio is also acting like it’s completely normal. After a while, Sergio nods approvingly and Fernando lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.  
  
“Your turn now,” Sergio says and Fernando wants to die again.

 

***

 

Sergio is sitting in the gardens. It’s getting dark and the breeze is cooler now. The flowers smell stronger at this time of the day and with the sultan and most of the army gone, the palace is so quiet that Sergio can hear the murmur of the fountain. The sultan would be probably having an opulent dinner now, surrounded by the whole court, there would be loud voices and laughter and music. To Sergio it suddenly feels like he is alone in the world, like there is nobody alive in the palace. Of course he knows that there is, it's just that Sergi is the complete opposite of his adoptive father. He’s a loner, never speaks too much and too loud, eats alone and the things that amuse the sultan disgust him. Sergio the most out of all of them.   
  
The courtiers probably fear the day the sultan dies and Sergi takes his place, because they will most likely lose their positions and will have to actually work to get money. Sergi is not the kind of person who would pay them for flattery.  
  
There are voices that the sultan is on his way back to the country. That he conquered yet another land. It means always the same – celebrations, feasts and most likely a new addition to the harem as well. The palace will come back to life. This time, though, Sergio doesn’t feel like he really anticipates the sultan’s arrival.  
  
He hears the fine gravel creak under someone’s feet. He lifts his head and tenses. He might not fear the sultan anymore, or not so much anyway, but there are other dangers, some of them closer than people think. Jealousy is a dangerous thing and Sergio knows that the cases when the less popular concubines got rid of their rivals were always quite common.  
  
But Fernando doesn’t look like he wants to harm him now. Instead he sits next to him looking somewhat weary.  
  
“I will not do it,” he says quietly, but there is some determination in his voice that worries Sergio more than he would ever admit to himself. “I can’t.”  
  
“The sultan will most probably kill you,” Sergio says in a flat voice.  
  
“I know,” Fernando nods. “I want it that way. This life... it would kill me as well, only slowly. I prefer it to be fast.”  
  
Sergio nods thoughtfully.  
  
“Of course. You have the right to decide.”  
  
“You...” Fernando bites his lip and looks at him. “What will happen to you?”  
  
Sergio’s voice doesn’t change.  
  
“Probably he’ll kill me as well.”  
  
Fernando opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish pulled out of water, trying to gulp air.   
  
“He can’t,” he whispers then. “It’s... it’s not your fault! It’s not fair!”  
  
“He can,” Sergio says slowly. “Because he’s the sultan. He can do anything. He can kill anyone he pleases, for whatever reason, even without a reason. He gave me this task, and if you refuse to submit to him, it means I didn’t fulfill it. So it’s only fair.”  
  
“But... I...” Fernando blurts out.  
  
“I don’t expect you to care,” Sergio shrugs. “It’s your life before anyone else’s, this is the rule here. Only I can’t force you to do it to save my life. Otherwise be sure that I would. I don’t know who you are or where you came from to think like this, but I still prefer to live.”  
  
Fernando bows his head. Deciding to die is one thing, but practically killing someone else is another. He tries to imagine the other possibilities. Maybe the sultan will grow tired of him quickly, like he grew tired of Javi and Jesús and some others. But then, what if he doesn’t? And even if he does? Sergio has been here for years.   
  
“I... I can...” he says, voice shaking. “I can at least try.”  
  
Sergio looks at him with certain surprise.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“For you,” Fernando nods. “I don’t want you to die.”  
  
Sergio watches him leave, unable to say anything.   
  
The next day, the sultan’s troops enter the city.


	4. Four

There is always a sort of a parade when the troops come back. The sultan rides in the front, majestic as always, greeted by the crowd lining the road that leads to the palace. He is followed by his whole army, but the people are curious about other things than just the soldiers. They wait for the cages with exotic animals, for the carriages full of booty, the captives in chains. All that the sultan usually brings with him from a campaign.  
  
When he rides through the giant gate and jumps off the horse, handing the bridle to his equerry, Sergi walks down the main staircase and bows to him.  
  
“Welcome home,” he says.  
  
The sultan cringes almost imperceptibly at the lack of the word “father” that Sergi has never learned to use with him and that he longs to hear at least once more in his life. But he recomposes himself quickly and hugs Sergi warmly.  
  
“It’s always nice to come home,” he says.   
  
They walk up to a terrace where a table is set under a canopy that’s supposed to protect from the harsh sun. The sultan sits down and drinks a bit of sweetened mint tea to refresh himself.  
  
The rest of his suite arrives slowly to the courtyard that the terrace overlooks and the sultan walks to the edge to watch the carriages with objects of art being unloaded and the captives led to the palace. His eyes follow one of them, a boy with dark hair and haunting green eyes. While some of the other captives are still wearing the complete uniforms, he only has his shirt on, and it’s already torn at the collar and one of the sleeves is almost ripped off. And while the others are just dragging their feet along, sometimes only because of the chains being pulled, exhausted after the long journey under the merciless sun, he looks like he puts all his strength into the effort to walk across the courtyard with his shoulders narrow and his head high.  
  
“That one!” the sultan calls, pointing his finger at him. “Bring him here!”  
  
The boy definitely doesn’t go willingly. When they try to push him on his knees, he starts to fight with renewed vigor, using the last bits of strength he has left. It takes two of the sultan’s guards to push him down and he almost manages to get up again, only the guard hitting him between the shoulder blades with the hilt of his sword stops him.  
  
His protests reduce to the vocal ones then, even those slowly subsiding as the exhaustion takes over him. The sultan watches the scene so attentively that he doesn’t notice Sergi get up from the table and walk up to him.  
  
“What did he do?” Sergi asks in voice loud enough to be heard over the laughter and shouting of the crowd.  
  
The sultan gives him a puzzled look. Partly because Sergi never speaks so loudly, and partly because he finds his question strange.  
  
“What did he do?” he repeats. “He’s an enemy. A captive.”  
  
“He’s a soldier!” Sergi objects. “Leave him some dignity.”  
  
“He  _was_  a soldier,” the sultan corrects him. “Now he’s a nobody.”   
  
He gives a nod to the guard who pushes the boy to the ground. Sergi turns his head away. The sultan chuckles.  
  
“And you wanted to go to war,” he sighs.

 

***

 

There are not a lot of things that could still surprise Sergio, but he still sneaks out of the harem when there’s the parade. He’s not as interested in the army as he is in all the new things. He needs new things to break through the boredom and routine.  
  
When he comes back, the atmosphere in the harem is calm, sleepy even. Mesut is playing backgammon with Javi, as he’s the only match for Javi in this game. Jesús is laying by the pool with a thin layer of thermal mud on his face.  
  
“You look somehow prettier today, Jesús,” Sergio grins.  
  
Jesús just narrows his eyes, the mud dried too much to allow him to move his face. Sergio sits down and reaches for some fruit on the table.  
  
“Where is Fernando?” he asks.  
  
“The sultan called him,” Pedro says calmly and frowns at Sergio’s shocked expression. “You could have expected that.”  
  
Sergio looks at Javi, but he just shrugs.  
  
“He’ll be fine, Sergio,” Nacho says, but doesn’t sound too convincing.   
  
Sergio wants to say something but is interrupted by two guards who carry in a young boy. What is more interesting, a moment after they leave, the prince walks in, followed by his bodyguard who is trying to catch his breath and looks rather unsure of what to do.   
  
“You shouldn’t be here, my prince,” he says quietly.  
  
The prince ignores him, same as he ignores the other concubines. Leaning over the boy, he tears the remains of his shirt off and crumpling it in a ball, looks up at the bodyguard.  
  
“Stop telling me what I should do and better send for Xavi, Gerard.”  
  
Gerard blinks in surprise.  
  
“Xavi? Your personal doctor?”  
  
“Do you know anyone else called Xavi?” the prince snaps.  
  
Gerard turns on his heels and exits the room, a bit hesitantly. The prince doesn’t even turn around. For a moment the boy’s eyes open and look into his, but then his heavy lids close again. The prince caresses his hair, but then becomes aware of the pairs of eyes watching him, and sits back on his heels, just watching him like a mother watches a child that is ill.

 

***

 

Fernando walks in the sultan’s bedroom and kneels down the way Sergio taught him. The sultan is maybe younger than he imagined, and if he’s to be honest with himself, he could look much worse, but the thought of giving himself to him still disgusts Fernando more than enough.  
  
“Fernando,” the sultan smiles. “The newest jewel in my collection. And the most expensive one. Do you know I’ve never paid so much for anyone?”  
  
“I didn’t know it, sire.”  
  
“They told me there was something beautiful available on the market, but that it was so expensive nobody could afford it. Nobody but me.”  
  
He tilts Fernando’s head up and smiles.  
  
“I believe it was worth the money.”  
  
Taking a few steps back, he pours some wine in a cup and drinks slowly while observing Fernando.  
  
“Take off your clothes,” he says then, voice calm and steady.  
  
Fernando remembers Sergio’s advice.  _Just do what he says. Don’t think, just do it._  And well, if he managed to be naked in front of Sergio and Javi, and for a moment even in front of Pedro by accident, he surely can do it now.  
  
He takes his clothes off slowly, not too provocatively, following Javi’s advice this time. He can hear the quiet thud when the guard closes the door behind him. Somehow it doesn’t feel better now. Fernando feels even more terrified now that they are alone. He feels the eyes roaming over his body and then a hand on his lower back.  
  
He closes his eyes and swallows. The hand pushes him towards the bed, still gently but adamantly. He sits on in and dares to lift his eyes to look at the older man.  
  
“How beautiful you are,” the sultan smiles.   
  
He gets on the bed and Fernando scrambles back. It’s his body that scrambles back, on its own. He bites his lip.  
  
“No need to be scared,” the sultan says. “It doesn’t have to hurt. It’s only up to you.”  
  
Fernando squeezes his eyes shut when the sultan touches him again. He realizes that nothing Sergio and Javi said couldn’t prepare him for this enough.

 

***

 

Xavi, Sergi’s personal doctor, is a short man in a strange purple cloak. Years ago, people considered him to be one of the many charlatans trying to get a position at the court. That was before he managed to cure the prince of an illness that killed all the rest of the royal family. But Xavi never boasted with it.   
  
“I bet the sultan doesn’t know about this,” Gerard mutters when Xavi kneels next to the boy. “And I bet he wouldn’t be happy to see you here, my prince.”  
  
Xavi turns to Sergi and nods.  
  
“Gerard is right, prince, you should go. I’ll take care of him.”  
  
Sergi doesn’t move from the spot. Xavi sighs and looks at the boy, carefully touching the edges of a long cut on his side. The boy’s eyes snap open and he tries to sit up, but Xavi pushes him down gently.  
  
“You’re fine, shh, you’re fine,” he mumbles.  
  
With calm motions he opens a pot of some balm that smells heavily of myrrh, and carefully applies a thick coat of it over the wound. The boy lets out a rattling breath and lets his head fall back into the pillows when the burning sensation is replaced by the cooling effects of the balm.  
  
“Go,” Xavi repeats and looks at Sergi. “You can’t help any more here.”  
  
Sergi gets up slowly and walks out the door. Xavi turns to Gerard who is leaning over the wall, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. He has been the prince’s bodyguard for long enough to tell when something is just a whim and when it is something he really cares about, and he knows that this boy has somehow become the latter. Maybe if he died, it would spare him the trouble, but he cares enough for the prince not to want to see him hurt.  
  
“I don’t think any of this is too dangerous,” Xavi says, talking half to Gerard, half to himself. “He has some scratches and bruises, but those will heal. He’s just exhausted, and the sun didn’t help.”  
  
He applies some of the balm hastily to the worst scratches and then starts digging deep in his bag.  
  
“It will be best to sleep it off,” he smiles and pulls out a small vial. “Sleep cures even the deepest pains and fears.”  
  
Carefully dropping the tincture into a glass of water, he looks at Gerard and sighs.  
  
“When someone has too much, he will always want more, isn’t that so?”  
  
“Your thoughts are dangerous as always, Xavi,” Gerard says with a stern face.  
  
“Your lack of compassion is no less dangerous,” Xavi replies calmly.  
  
He lifts the glass to the boy’s lips and helps him drink. Then he sets the empty glass on the low table and places a wet cloth on his forehead.   
  
“Someone should look after him,” he says, looking at the concubines who are watching him curiously.  
  
“I will,” Javi says.  
  
Xavi nods and sighs again. He collects his things, then shows the vial to Javi and with a wink hides it under one pillow. Javi nods and smiles.   
  
Mere minutes after Xavi and Gerard leave, a guard walks in and points at Sergio.

 

***

 

Sergio drags his feet behind the silent guard. He knows that what is about to happen won’t be pleasant. He’s wondering whether the sultan will have him killed immediately or if he will want to do it publicly.  
  
He hopes for the former.  
  
The guard opens the door and lets him in. Sergio drops to his knees and bows his head but when there is no sound, he dares to lift his head. The sultan is looming over him, his face threatening enough for him not to have to say a word and Sergio knows how much in trouble he is. Then he looks to the bed and suppresses a sigh.  
  
Fernando is laying on the bed, curled up in a ball, sheets wrapped around his body tightly, and he’s sobbing quietly.  
  
“I didn’t pay for this,” the sultan says through gritted teeth. “I could have bought ten horses for that money.”  
  
Sergio would object that he didn’t advise him to buy Fernando, if he didn’t know that it would be probably the last thing he would get to say in his life.  
  
“Sire, I am deeply sorry,” he says. “I followed your orders, but...”  
  
“Apparently badly,” the sultan says. “So, tell me now, what should I do? One of you is obviously useless, and the other one probably not less.”  
  
“Sire, please,” Sergio mumbles. “Let me just talk to him.”  
  
“But quickly,” the sultan says. “I have quite a long journey behind me, so I wouldn’t want to spend the whole night on this.”  
  
Sergio nods and walks over to the bed. He sits next to Fernando and leans over him.  
  
“Hey!” he whispers in his ear. “Stop crying, you won’t help anything.”  
  
Fernando opens his eyes and looks at him.  
  
“You promised you’d try,” Sergio says.  
  
“I tried,” Fernando sobs.  
  
“Try harder,” Sergio says, looks over his shoulder and then starts whispering again. “Just this time. Just once, Fernando. Then I promise I’ll think of something. I promise.”  
  
“I can’t, Sergio!” Fernando sniffs.  
  
“You can. Don’t think. Just let him do what he wants. He’s tired tonight, it won’t last long. Please, Fernando.”  
  
Fernando looks at him shyly and nods. Sergio wipes away his tears and gently pulls the sheets off his body. He turns to the sultan and nods.  
  
“Fine, you can go. But don’t think I’ll let it pass so easily.”  
  
“Sire, your wish is my order,” Sergio bows and walks out of the door.  
  
For some reason, he suddenly really hates himself.

 

***

 

Sergi takes care of sneaking past the guards and taking the longer way to avoid his adoptive father’s rooms. He knows that he’s most likely busy with his newest jewel, but he doesn’t want to risk anything. The scene earlier in the afternoon on the terrace was bad enough and he needs it to be forgotten as soon as possible.  
  
As for Xavi and Gerard, he trusts them enough. Well, Xavi he would entrust with his own life, and actually it’s what he does now. Gerard is maybe not willing to get into any trouble and that’s why he’s so reluctant, but he wouldn’t betray him.   
  
 _Betray him._  Sergi feels like he’s conspiring behind the sultan’s back, like he’s preparing some treason, and yet he only entered the harem once. Which nobody has really banned him from doing. His adoptive father even offered him his concubine, so there’s nothing he should worry about.  
  
Entering the wing of the palace reserved for him, he realizes that he is still holding the boy’s shirt in his hands. He runs his fingers over the fabric and frowns. He can tell expensive tissues from the common ones and this feels like fine silk. Stopping in his tracks, he finds the closest torch and lifts the remnants of the shirt to the light. And then he sees it, right under the piece of torn collar that was hanging down. There is an emblem, a crown embroidered with golden thread.  
  
“Good God,” he whispers.


	5. Five

Sergio doesn’t sleep. He couldn’t fall asleep even if he tried. Jesús is already sleeping soundly, sprawled on the bed in a provocative pose that he isn’t even conscious of anymore. And Nacho fell asleep when Sergio stopped at least walking around the bedroom and settled on his bed.  
  
When the guards bring Fernando in, Sergio almost jumps up, but then waits for them to leave. Fernando remains sitting on the place they left him at, quiet and unmoving.   
  
“Fernando?” Sergio whispers.   
  
No answer. Sergio slides off the bed and walks up to him, sits down next to him. Fernando only moves when he attempts to touch him. He turns his face away and sniffles. Sergio sighs.  
  
“Was it that bad?” he asks.  
  
Fernando turns his head back and glares at him with red-rimmed eyes. Sergio realizes that probably his definition of ‘bad’ is a lot different. Everything must be bad for Fernando. Sergio gets up and picks up the basin with water and a clean towel. He soaks the towel and washes Fernando's face first, wiping away the remnants of tears and sweat. At least there are no visible bruises on his face and on his neck. It’s kind of logical. The sultan wouldn’t want to damage his most expensive jewel.  
  
“In the morning you can soak in one of the hot pools,” Sergio says calmingly. “It helps relieve the soreness.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Fernando whispers.  
  
Sergio lets his hand with the towel fall down.  
  
“Sorry?” he repeats. “For what?”  
  
“I got you in trouble,” Fernando says, his voice flat and sounding like from far away.   
  
“It’s alright,” Sergio says. “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”  
  
He isn’t entirely sure about it. He is worried, he can feel the fear gnawing at his insides from the moment the sultan promised to punish him. He recognized that the menace wasn’t meaningless. There was a plan on the sultan’s mind, probably even before Sergio failed. He  _wished_  he would fail.  
  
“Go to sleep,” Sergio says. “You’ll see it gets better.”  
  
Fernando nods and lays on the bed. He leaves the curtains open and when Sergio looks at him again, he sees Fernando's eyes glimmering in the darkness.

 

***

 

The preceptor sighs deeply, closes the book and looks at the young prince.  
  
“Not even the greatest battles impress you?” he asks.  
  
“Thousands of people dying, destroyed lands, people losing their freedom? It doesn’t impress me. It fills me with sorrow,” Sergi says.  
  
“But you wanted to go to war yourself,” the preceptor objects.  
  
“To understand,” Sergi says and looks at him. “To see all you’re talking about, all that is in the books. To see it as it really is. You once told me the history is written by the winners. I wanted to see the other side.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry about it. Your father’s army is strong. Unbeaten for long years. You don’t need to fear for your land. Don’t need to fear slavery.”  
  
“I’m not afraid, Pep,” Sergi shakes his head. “Not of foreign countries. I’m afraid of ours.”  
  
Pep frowns and wipes his forehead with a tissue. Teaching the young prince is much more difficult than it was to teach his cousins, those predestined to inherit the throne one day. They would gulp his words and memorize them, never question. Nod to all the words about the glory of their land. Regard their fallen soldiers as heroes and the enemy’s as casualties. Sergi is different. He questions, objects, disagrees. With principles that are not to be questioned by anyone. Were he a simple peasant, they would kill him on spot. Were he a son of a less important official, they would correct his way of thinking through torture and imprisonment. But as the adoptive son of the sultan, it’s Pep’s task to correct his way of thinking and Pep isn’t convinced that he is able to do it.  
  
“Let’s read the memoirs of Caesar,” he offers. “It is authentic, not pure statistics.”  
  
He opens the book and looks at Sergi, but the prince’s eyes are unfocused.   
  
“Prince?” he asks carefully.  
  
“I need a break,” Sergi says and gets up.  
  
“But...”  
  
“I said I needed a break!”   
  
Pep’s eyes go wide at the harsh tone he’s never heard from the prince. Before he can blink, there is only the curtain moving in the air his disciple stirred when he ran out of the room. Pep sighs, closes the book and throws it on the table.   
  
Sometimes he feels like he chose the wrong profession.

 

***

 

Fernando comes to the pool when the others are having breakfast. Luckily Jesús is busy bickering with Pedro about the red spots that have somehow appeared on Jesús’ face after he washed off his mud mask. Fernando is sure that he couldn’t take Jesús’ curiosity and Pedro’s insensitive remarks.  
  
“Soak in the pool,” Sergio advises him. “It will help.”  
  
Only then Fernando notices that he’s limping a little bit to relieve the pain he feels almost everywhere. He nods and takes off his clothes. Suddenly he realizes that he doesn’t mind if the others will see him naked. It doesn’t matter to him anymore.   
  
Javi lays a comforting hand on his back and helps him get in the pool. Fernando lets out a sigh of relief when the water makes his body feel lighter. Javi splashes the water on the back of his neck as well and rubs his thumbs along it. Fernando hisses.  
  
“Hurts?” Javi asks quietly.  
  
“My whole body hurts. All my muscles.”  
  
“It happens when you’re tense,” Javi says calmly.   
  
“How can you not be?” Fernando spits out.   
  
At first, Javi doesn’t answer, his fingers moving routinely over the knots in the muscles on Fernando's shoulders.  
  
“If you relax, it hurts less,” he says then. “You mustn’t hold your breath, just take deep, slow breaths. And focus on it.”  
  
Fernando turns around briskly, looking at him with shock and disgust.   
  
“You asked,” Javi says softly. “I answered.”  
  
He gets up and wipes his hands.  
  
“Excuse me,” he smiles. “Suddenly I have too many people to tend to.”

 

***

 

When Sergi walks in one of the bedrooms of the harem, Javi stands to attention instead of bowing, force of habit that never died out. Sergi nods curtly, which is also unusual as he normally ignores all the concubines.  
  
“Could you leave us?” he asks then.  
  
Javi nods and leaves the room. Sergi sits on the edge of the bed carefully and looks at the boy who is watching him a bit mistrustfully.  
  
“I remember you,” he says then. “Yesterday on the terrace... you tried to defend me.”  
  
Sergi nods and bites his lip.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he asks.   
  
“Better. The doctor who tended to me was your personal doctor, wasn’t he?”  
  
Sergi nods again.  
  
“You have a personal doctor... you must be royalty.”  
  
“I am. The sultan is my adoptive father. I’m Sergi, by the way.”  
  
“Marc.”  
  
Sergi gives a small smile.  
  
“Why did you do it?” Marc asks then. “I mean, you defended me, called your personal doctor for me... but you don’t know me.”  
  
“Good question,” Sergi sighs. “I don’t know the answer myself.”  
  
He is silent for a while.  
  
“I saw...” he starts, then pauses and looks around. “I saw the crown on your shirt.”  
  
Marc lifts his eyes.  
  
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Sergi says quickly. “They don’t know who you are, do they?”  
  
Marc shakes his head.   
  
“Not yet, otherwise I wouldn’t be here,” he says. “The sultan thinks he has the right to our country now. That there is no one to claim it. If they knew who I was, they’d make sure it would be true.”  
  
“I won’t tell them. You have my word.”  
  
“What did you do with the shirt?” Marc asks.  
  
“Burned it.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“I need to go now,” Sergi says. “My preceptor will want to ask me about the rebellion of the Senones and Carnutes.”  
  
“Year fifty-three. It ended with the leader of the rebellion, Acco, being sentenced to death by Caesar. He was flogged to death.”  
  
“I see we have the same education,” Sergi smiles.   
  
“Maybe just different views on it,” Marc says.  
  
“And maybe not so different,” Sergi whispers.

 

***

 

Javi finds Fernando in the gardens, sitting by the fountain. He looks up when he hears Javi’s steps, then lowers his eyes again, looking at his hands.  
  
“I can’t do it anymore, Javi,” he whispers then. “If he calls me again, I’ll die. I’ll kill myself.”  
  
“You have the courage to kill yourself but not the courage to face the sultan?” Javi raises his brows.  
  
“Well, I’m not like Sergio!” Fernando barks.  
  
“Like Sergio?” Javi asks quietly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You think that it was easier for him than it is for you? He was much younger than you when he came here, practically still a child. He watched his family die before the soldiers took him from home and then he got thrown in here. Do you think he likes it? No, he just copes with it as well as he can. We all are.”  
  
“Why?” Fernando whispers and looks up. “Why don’t you give up?”  
  
“I can’t tell about the others. I personally would feel like a coward if I did. And if I still have a choice that I can make, it’s not to die a coward.”  
  
Suddenly they hear laughter, women’s laughter. Fernando blinks in surprise and looks towards the hedgerow where the sound comes from.  
  
“There are women?” he asks.  
  
“Did you think there weren’t any?” Javi laughs. “Not everyone in the palace has the same taste as the sultan. The ministers, other officials... they do have wives but concubines as well. Usually the number of them indicates their social status.”  
  
“And who are they? Slaves?”  
  
“Not all of them,” Javi shakes his head. “Some of them are even of noble blood.”  
  
A ball suddenly falls on the road and rolls to their feet. Javi picks it up and turns it in his hand. Soon after, some giggling sounds from behind the hedgerow and then a girl appears, stumbling out of the carefully trimmed bushes like someone has pushed her. She looks at them and at the ball in Javi’s hand. The smile that appears on her lips is by no means shy or embarrassed. It’s sort of mischievous.  
  
“Hey, beautiful!” she calls. “Can we have our ball back?”  
  
“It depends,” Javi smiles. “If you ask nicely...”  
  
The girl laughs and makes a step closer.  
  
“Can we have our ball back, pretty please?” she says.  
  
“First I want to know who I’m giving it to.”  
  
Fernando turns away, feeling uncomfortable with the flirting that is obviously going on right in front of his eyes.  
  
“I’m María.”  
  
Javi smiles and throws the ball to her. She catches it and turns back to the hedgerow, making a few steps before looking over her shoulder.  
  
“Come join us,” she says. “If you dare.”

 

***

 

With the evening approaching, Sergio feels more and more nervous. For the first time, or maybe the first time in years, he envies Mesut or Jesús, envies them that they are forgotten. He wonders if the punishment will come tonight. Tries to brace himself for it, but it‘s hard, too hard when he doesn‘t know what the punishment will be.  
  
He can‘t even eat, chewing just on a piece of plain bread while the others have dinner. His eyes are fixed on the door, awaiting the guard.  
  
He walks in and looks around, longer than he usually does, or maybe it‘s just Sergio‘s imagination. Then he points his finger, somewhere behind Sergio‘s shoulder, and Sergio feels the relief wash over him, momentarily taking over his mind, so it takes him a while to notice how surprised, or even shocked the others look.  
  
Then he turns around to see who the guard is pointing at, and gasps as well.  
  
He is pointing at Jesús.


	6. Six

Sergio is sitting by the pool even when the others are already gone, either playing games or discussing the recent events. Sergio needs to think. He knows that there has to be a reason behind the sultan’s unusual choice. He didn’t remember Jesús for long months, years maybe. And now he prefers him to everyone else, to his new jewels, to his favorites, even to Sergio.   
  
Maybe it’s a part of the punishment. Maybe he knows how it humiliates Sergio. But it seems like too little of a punishment.  
  
Javi enters the room and sits on the edge of the pool, smiling to Sergio in a way Sergio has never seen him smile.  
  
“Fernando told me about the afternoon,” Sergio says.  
  
“Did he?” Javi doesn’t stop smiling.  
  
“You are asking for trouble!” Sergio hisses. “The first minister’s favorite concubine? Are you mad? It could cost you your head.”  
  
“That sounds like a good price,” Javi smiles.  
  
“What?”   
  
“This is worth it, Sergio. All this time I’ve been waiting for something, for a reason to live. This is it.”  
  
“A reason to live that could have you killed?” Sergio rolls his eyes. “You speak worse than Mesut sometimes.”  
  
“I honestly think that you should be more worried about yourself than about me and my head,” Javi says.   
  
“Should I be also worried about why the sultan suddenly remembered Jesús was still alive?” Sergio sighs.  
  
“Probably yes. Mainly because we know that Jesús will do anything to ingratiate himself with the sultan. You should watch your back now, Sergio.”  
  
Sergio nods thoughtfully. But the metaphorical knives are harder to watch for than the real ones.

 

***

 

Jesús comes back long after midnight. He makes sure to be as noisy as possible to wake the others up, stomping his feet on purpose, humming something as he washes his face and when it doesn’t seem to have the desired effect, he pretends to accidentally drop the basin.   
  
“We know you’re here, Jesús,” Nacho groans.  
  
Jesús giggles and climbs on his bed.   
  
“Aren’t you curious about anything?” he asks.  
  
“No, we want to sleep,” Nacho says. “Go wake up Pedro, he likes your gossip.”  
  
Jesús waits for a moment, probably hoping that either Fernando or Sergio will change their minds and ask him about something, but Sergio pretends to be still asleep and Fernando just continues staring at the ceiling.   
  
“Your mistake,” Jesús says then and plops on the bed.   
  
Nacho quietly thanks God for Jesús being finally quiet. The room falls silent and after a while, Sergio can hear Nacho’s calm breath and Jesús’ quiet snoring. He closes his eyes and slowly falls into a doze.  
  
A pair of heavy steps wake him up, though before he manages to realize what is going on, strong arms pull him up and out of the bed. He looks with terror at the two guards, each gripping one of his arms. No words are spoken as they start walking towards the door, dragging Sergio along.  
  
 _The executions happen at dawn._    
  
Sergio’s mind goes blank at the thought, random as it is, but how should he explain to himself why the guards are taking him away when it’s still dark, in silence?   
  
Nacho and Jesús are obviously still asleep, or if they are not, they are pretending to be for the sake of it being safer than witnessing this. Then in the semi-darkness, he sees Fernando's eyes glint as he sits up and looks at Sergio.  
  
Sergio shakes his head slightly. One head is still better than two.

 

***

 

Fernando would expect everyone to talk about what happened, but it seems like the rules here are different. Nobody seems to dare to mention Sergio’s name, as if Sergio never existed, and mainly, was supposed to never return.  
  
Fernando does mention his name, though, to Javi. He tells him all that happened, since Jesús came back until the guards took him away. He doesn’t have any hope of Javi being able to help Sergio because Javi is nothing more than Fernando himself, which means a simple slave, but he hopes at least for some comfort.  
  
“Executed? No, I don’t think so,” Javi says when Fernando speaks out his worst fears. “He wouldn’t do it in secret.”  
  
“Then why would he take him away?” Fernando asks.   
  
“He must have a plan of some sort,” Javi says. “I do think that him calling up Jesús and Sergio’s disappearance are linked.”  
  
“What about me?” Jesús asks as he walks in, a smug smile on his face.  
  
“Jesús,” Javi says and looks at him. “Don’t you, by any chance, know anything about Sergio?”  
  
“Me?” Jesús smirks. “Come on, you always look at me like I am the sand you can walk on, and now I am supposed to know about the sultan’s plans?”  
  
“I think you do know something,” Javi says. “You always do. Besides, the sultan wouldn’t call you just like that.”  
  
“And if I do?” Jesús smirks.   
  
In a blink Javi grabs him from behind, firmly enough to limit him in his movements but still careful not to hurt him.  
  
“Ouch!” Jesús screams nevertheless. “Let go, I’m not one of your soldiers!”  
  
“If you want to see what I’d do if you were one of my soldiers, I can show you. But it would be better if you just told us what you know about Sergio.”  
  
Jesús looks offended, scared and angry at the same time, his face almost causing Fernando to laugh.  
  
“He didn’t tell me anything,” he spits then. “Just asked me a bunch of questions. About Sergio, I mean.”  
  
Javi takes a breath, but in that moment, a guard walks in. Everyone stops talking. The guard looks around an then points at Marc.  
  
Javi balls his fists so tight that his knuckles turn white. Marc, on the other hand, if he’s scared, doesn’t let it show. He gets up and narrows his shoulders the same way he did in front of the sultan when they first brought him in. Then he follows the guard, followed by the worried looks of the other concubines.

 

***

 

They walk down long corridors, mostly empty and quiet. Then the guard opens a door and ushers Marc in. Marc remains standing, determined not to kneel unless they force him to. But the guard doesn’t move and the other person in the room just slowly turns around.  
  
Marc gasps. He is looking at Sergi, and Sergi is looking at him, smiling nervously.  
  
“You?“ Marc breathes.  
  
“Me.”  
  
“But...”  
  
He turns to the door where the guard remained standing. Gerard takes the helmet off and sighs.  
  
“Next time please spare me this masquerade, prince,” he says with a huff of annoyance.  
  
“I’m sorry, Gerard,” Sergi laughs softly. “You can leave us.”  
  
Gerard frowns and looks at Marc mistrustfully.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really,” Sergi nods.  
  
Gerard walks out and closes the door. Sergi motions towards a low table surrounded by colorful pillows. Marc sits down and looks at him.   
  
“I hope you are not angry with me for this trick,” Sergi says. “But I needed to see you.”  
  
“What about your... father? Won’t he be angry with you?”  
  
“He’s gone,” Sergi says. “To a friend of his. He will stay there for a few days.”  
  
“And why did you need to see me?”  
  
Sergi sinks on the pillows next to him.   
  
“I don’t know. I just thought that... it’s just impossible what he did to you, what he wants to do to you.”  
  
“Why is it impossible?” Marc asks quietly.  
  
“You’re royalty!” Sergi whispers. “You’re more royalty than I am!”  
  
Marc just keeps looking at him, not moving even when Sergi leans closer.  
  
“I mean, what he does is awful, it’s awful regardless of who he does it to, but to do it to you would be...”  
  
He doesn’t get to finish because in that moment Marc presses his lips against his. Sergi freezes for a while, his eyes stay open and he doesn’t even dare to breathe. Then he parts his lips and accepts the kiss, still keeping his hands in his lap, not quite daring to touch Marc or to pull him closer. Marc on the contrary gently pushes him down on his back, onto the pillows, and reaches behind his neck to remove the garments he has on, a bit clumsily as this is fashion he’s not accustomed to. Sergi lifts his hands and traces Marc’s abs, careful to avoid the still not fully healed wounds.   
  
“I have no idea of what I‘m doing,” he breathes.  
  
“Me neither,” Marc smiles. “But... I thought... your father wants to take something from me. But what can he take from me when I give it to you?”  
  
Sergi half-sits to remove his own clothes, a lot more smoothly than Marc, and he pulls Marc down on him.   
  
“Still don’t know what you’re doing?” Marc smirks into a kiss.  
  
“No,” Sergi whispers. “But I don’t want to stop doing it.”

 

***

 

When the guards pushed him inside a carriage and got in as well, Sergio understood that if he was about to be executed, then not there and not now. He didn’t dare to ask any of the guards where they were going, and the guards didn’t speak either. Overall, the sultan’s guards didn’t usually waste words.  
  
The carriage left the city gates when the sun came up, and headed someplace Sergio didn’t know. After all, he only knew the walls of the palace, and the village he came from, and even those memories were quite blurred already.   
  
The ride takes almost the whole day and the carriage only stops occasionally. The guards never leave his side. He dozes off for a while in the afternoon heat and when he wakes up, he notices the carriage is now riding smoothly, like it found a good road. Looking out he sees that they are going through a city.  
  
Then the carriage stops in front of a huge complex of buildings, not as majestic as the sultan’s palace, but still suggesting it is probably the place the ruler of this city lives in. The guards bring him to a room where a tub full of warm water is ready together with clean towels and a pile of clothes. Sergio uses it all and waits.   
  
Then the guards appear again, leading him through a labyrinth of corridors. When they reach a room that looks like an antechamber to the best rooms of the palace, Sergio gasps. Sitting on a divan there is the sultan, smiling at him contentedly.  
  
“Well, my crown jewel,” he drawls. “Isn’t it how you like to call yourself?”  
  
Sergio is unable to speak. The sultan gets up and looks at him.  
  
“Crown jewels are not to be shared, Sergio,” he whispers. “I will show you that you are not a crown jewel. Because I wish to share you. Tonight.”

 

***

 

Marc leans on one elbow and looks at Sergi with a dazed smile. It’s a sight to behold, possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He feels like he’s looking at an angel that accidentally fell off the sky right in his arms, only that there is something so sinful in Sergi’s face now that the other angels would never take him back.  
  
“So what now?” Marc whispers, caressing Sergi’s damp hair. “We can’t play this game forever.”  
  
“No,” Sergi shakes his head. “We can’t.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“I’ll think of something,” Sergi says. “When I’m able to think again.”  
  
“Let’s not rush it,” Marc smiles and kisses him.   
  
“Alright,” Sergi whispers and snuggles up to him. “Let’s not.”


	7. Seven

Pep wipes his forehead with a tissue and drinks a sip of mint tea to soothe his throat after a long lecture of which he is sure the young prince doesn’t remember anything.   
  
“I know all the accounts of battles go in one of your gracious ears and out of the other, but this is history!” he whines.  
  
Sergi giggles at the “gracious ears” expression and Pep wonders if he will actually ever grow up.  
  
“What is this good for, Pep?” Sergi asks. “History of some country I’ve never seen and probably will not ever see. Why don’t you teach me about other countries?”  
  
“What countries?”  
  
Sergi jabs his finger in the map.  
  
“Ah...” Pep frowns. “Why this one?”  
  
“Isn’t it normal that I want to know more about a country my father has just conquered?” Sergi asks. “It belongs to him now, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Pep nods, feeling a bit of energy coming back into him with the hope of having the prince’s attention now. “This country, then. What would you want to know?”  
  
“Everything,” Sergi says and reaches for a cluster of grapes because he knows that it irritates Pep when he eats during lessons. “What it’s like. Who used to rule it. Everything.”  
  
“Well, they mostly lived out of commerce. They have a few important ports, so their force laid in the marine. That’s why it was possible for us to defeat them on the land.”  
  
“Who ruled it?” Sergi asks.  
  
“Well, I would say they had oligarchy there, but officially a sultan ruled the country, same as here,” Pep says.  
  
“Did he have children?”   
  
“Yes, a son.”  
  
“The country should belong to him now, shouldn’t it?”  
  
“But he’s dead,” Pep says calmly.  
  
“Dead?” Sergi narrows his eyes.   
  
“He died in the battle with his father,” Pep explains.  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Your father’s soldiers say he did. Why are you doubting it?”  
  
“I just can’t imagine how I could be sure among all the soldiers that the one I was looking at was the ruler’s son.”  
  
“Oh,” Pep smiles. “I see I got at least a bit of logic into you. Well, don’t worry. He had a sword with the emblem of their house. You don’t give your sword to just anyone.”  
  
“No,” Sergi nods and bites his lip. “Certainly not.”

 

***

 

All Sergio can see from the other person in the room are the feet in leather sandals. The guards pushed him down on his knees as soon as they walked in and he didn’t dare to lift his head since.  
  
“Zinedine!” a voice says and it’s the first time Sergio hears someone call the sultan by his name. “So this is him?”  
  
“Yes,” the sultan says contentedly. “This is Sergio.”  
  
“Is he really such wonder?” the person asks.  
  
“Trust me, Raúl. He is.”  
  
Sergio lifts his eyes to the other man. His hand shoots up and slaps Sergio across the face. It more shocks Sergio than it hurts him. He isn’t the one to get beaten up, the sultan has other boys for it.  
  
“You won’t look at me without my permission,” the man says. “You won’t talk without my permission.”  
  
Sergio half expects the sultan to say something, Sergio is his jewel after all, but he stays silent and Sergio understands that he’s definitely not here to defend him. His heart races in his chest. He might have come to terms with his fate, he might have gotten used to everything, but it was still only with one person whom he knew what to expect from.   
  
“On the bed,” Raúl’s harsh voice commands. “Let’s see if you’re any better than the whores here.”  
  
Even now the sultan stays silent, apparently not taking any offense. Sergio has learned to think of himself as of a thing, like Pedro likes to say, valuable, but a thing. Now it seems that he is a thing that has lost its value.  
  
It all feels like the first night, the fear of the unknown, worsened by the lack of innocence. He grips the satin sheets tight and grits his teeth. For the first time since morning, he maybe regrets that the guards didn’t lead him to the swordsman.

 

***

 

Fernando spends the whole night pacing around the room. Jesús mocks him until he talks himself into sleep and even Nacho, who seemed quite understanding throughout the day asks him to stop it after a few hours. But sleeping seems impossible now, even sitting on the bed does.  
  
He feels guilty because whatever happened to Sergio is his fault. Sergio tried to help him, as much as he could, and Fernando did promise him that he would try and not get him in trouble. And he failed miserably.  
  
Apart from guilty, though, he is afraid. Afraid of not seeing Sergio even again, of not having the opportunity to apologize, to try to amend what he’s done. He keeps thinking about ways to at least find out what happened to Sergio, but can’t come up with any plan. Talking to the sultan is impossible, unless he calls him, and even then it would be risky enough. Some of the servants or guards might know something, but the concubines only get close to certain sort of servants and those rarely leave the harem.  
  
He decides then that when the sultan calls him, he will ask, no matter how big the risk is. And he suddenly hopes that he will call him soon. He is his newest jewel, cost him so much money, surely he can’t just forget about him. He can’t believe that he wishes for it, but it’s the only way that he sees.  
  
With that decision, he finally lays on the bed and falls asleep out of exhaustion.

 

***

 

Marc looks around cautiously when Sergi joins him by the fountain in the gardens. It’s still too early in the morning and most of the courtiers are asleep, but in the palace even walls have ears and sometimes also eyes. Sergi, on the other hand, seems to be too lost in thoughts to be careful.  
  
“Why didn’t you have your sword?” he asks.  
  
“What?” Marc frowns and looks at him.  
  
“Your sword. I’m asking why in the battle you didn’t have your sword.”  
  
Marc pales and lifts his eyes to look into Sergi’s.  
  
“How do you know about my sword?” he whispers.  
  
“They think you are dead because they found a dead soldier with your sword,” Sergi replies, a lot less harshly, like Marc’s reaction dissipates any suspicion he may have had. “But at least in my country, you don’t give your sword just to anyone. It’s almost a part of you.”  
  
“In my country it’s the same,” Marc nods, running a hand over his face as if he can’t decide whether to hide his grief or not.  
  
“Then who did you give it to?” Sergi asks.  
  
“My cousin,” Marc says. “It was his first battle, and he was so scared. I thought...”   
  
Sergi hesitates for a moment, then lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, surprisingly steady and calm.  
  
“I know what it feels like, to lose someone you loved. I lost all of them, all of my family.”  
  
“It’s unreal,” Marc says. “I should be sad, but I’m almost glad that he is dead. Almost glad that he doesn’t have to share my fate.”  
  
“Let’s change it,” Sergi whispers. “Your fate. Let’s change it and give you the right to grieve.”  
  
“And you know how?”  
  
“I do,” Sergi nods. “But you’ll have to have the courage for us both. Because I’m not sure that I have enough.”

 

***

 

The smooth tissue is clinging to Sergio’s body but it’s the smallest thing to bother him. His whole body aches, his eyes burn from tears and sweat and there is a hole burned in the place of his mind where he once treasured the last remnants of his pride.   
  
“Well, I’m glad you can still be useful,” the sultan says. “I have been doubting it recently. Maybe you would be more useful to Raúl. Maybe I should leave you here.”  
  
A wave of panic hits Sergio. He would rather die than to stay alone here with Raúl. Whatever the sultan had done to him over the years, Raúl could outdo over one night. In some moments Sergio felt like he would die, but soon understood that he would never be given the mercy of death.  
  
“What do you say?” the sultan asks nonchalantly. “Should I leave you here?”  
  
Had the remnants of Sergio’s pride still be there, he maybe wouldn’t answer. But now he doesn’t want anything more than to go back to the place he can at least call home, for he has no other home. He slides down the bed and crawls to the sultan’s feet on his knees.  
  
“Please,” he breathes out. “Please, don’t leave me here.”  
  
“No?” the sultan chuckles. “But what should I keep you for? I’ve already seen all there is to you, and when I thought you’d be useful otherwise, you let me down.”  
  
“I will not let you down again, I promise!” Sergio blurts out.  
  
He will promise anything if it gets him out of here, back home, to the relative safety of routine.  
  
“Really?” the sultan says doubtingly. “Well, I should see for myself, shouldn’t I? I’ll be merciful. I’ll give you one last chance.”  
  
Sergio finally takes a deep breath.   
  
“After all,” the sultan says. “You’re not the only one who should be punished.”

 

***

 

Marc finds Javi by the pool and sits down next to him.  
  
“You look almost dangerously determined,” Javi notes.  
  
“Because I am,” Marc smiles. “Whatever it is that the sultan wants, I’m not going to give it to him that easily.”  
  
“That’s easy to say and harder to do.”  
  
“Maybe I know what to do.”  
  
“What to do about what?” Jesús’ sweet voice sounds above them.  
  
“Could you mind your own business, Jesús?” Javi asks. “It would be greatly appreciated.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to mind my own business?” Jesús folds his arms.  
  
Marc sighs exasperatedly, obviously not yet completely accustomed to Jesús’ personality. Javi stands up.  
  
“Dismiss!” he shouts and not only Jesús cowers, but also Pedro falls in the pool.  
  
“Are you mad?” he sputters when he scrambles back up.  
  
Marc is almost doubling with laughter. Jesús makes a face and looks at Pedro.   
  
“Let’s leave our soldiers together,” he snorts. “Or they’ll give us more commands like this.”  
  
“Yeah. Sometimes I think that if Javi tried to command the sultan’s guards, maybe they would really obey him,” Pedro says.  
  
“Then I wouldn’t be here anymore,” Javi smirks.  
  
They wait for Pedro and Jesús to disappear in the other room.   
  
“If I understand you well, you want to do something nobody else has ever tried to do,” Javi says. “You want to get out of here.”  
  
“Of course. But just getting out of here wouldn’t solve anything.”  
  
“There’s no way you could do this alone, though.”  
  
“Maybe I won’t be alone in this. But I’ll still need your help.”  
  
“You’ll have it.”  
  
“But if this doesn’t work, we’ll be both dead,” Marc says thoughtfully.  
  
“This death I wouldn’t mind,” Javi smiles.


	8. Eight

“Well, look who is back!” Jesús exclaims when Sergio walks in the common room.  
  
“We already cried for you,” Pedro adds, reaching for a slice of melon on the table. “Well, not really.”  
  
Sergio doesn’t seem to acknowledge them at all. He just walks across the room and disappears in the bedroom. Pedro and Jesús exchange confused looks. Fernando gets up and goes to the bedroom.  
  
The curtains around Sergio’s bed are drawn. Fernando approaches the bed and pushes them aside. He sits next to Sergio who doesn’t seem to be aware of his presence.  
  
“Sergio,” Fernando says softly. “What happened?”  
  
When Sergio doesn’t answer, Fernando touches his arm tentatively. Sergio makes a pitiful sound and jumps back like Fernando’s touch burned him.  
  
“Hey, it’s me,” Fernando says.   
  
Sergio lifts his head a little and looks at him, but instead of calming down, he starts sobbing uncontrollably.   
  
“I... I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Sorry? For what?” Fernando asks patiently, but Sergio just shakes his head and curls up on the bed.  
  
Fernando hesitates for a while before touching him again. This time Sergio doesn’t startle, but he looks at him with eyes full of tears.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want to... I’m sorry...”  
  
“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s alright,” Fernando says. “But you know I won’t tell anyone.”  
  
Sergio nods and sniffles.  
  
“I was worried about you,” Fernando continues. “I thought that he... I thought that you were dead.”  
  
“I wish I were,” Sergio whispers and then breaks down in tears again. “I’m so sorry, Fernando, I... maybe if I... but I didn’t know...”  
  
Fernando sighs deeply and then hugs him awkwardly. Sergio gives him a half-confused, half-grateful look.  
  
“You should try to sleep,” Fernando says. “Before Jesús comes and starts talking.”  
  
Sergio nods and curls up on the bed again. Fernando closes the curtains and sits on his own bed. Somehow he has the feeling that this is not the end. More like a beginning of something.

 

***

 

“I don’t know, he won’t speak to me,” Fernando sighs.  
  
He and Javi are taking a walk in the gardens. Actually, the only way to talk to Javi these days means finding him in the gardens, where he practically spends all days trying to catch a glance of María, or, when he’s more lucky, even exchange a few words with her when they meet at the right place out of sight of the guards and when the women accompanying her are willing to pretend that they are blind and deaf.  
  
“He didn’t tell you anything at all?” Javi asks.  
  
“No. He kept repeating that he was sorry, and that was about it. I understood something about the sultan wanting to punish me as well, but I have no idea what he meant. He didn’t tell me what happened to him.”  
  
“Maybe we just have to wait for him to calm down,” Javi sighs. “You know, the sultan is able to think up quite terrible things. He’s not your usual brute that would hurt just the body, that actually isn’t that hard to get used to. But him, he finds your weak spot and hurts you just there. It’s why he’s been the ruler of this country for so long, and why he’s won so many battles. He finds the weak spot and uses it to his advantage, and he breaks you. In war, and in bed.”  
  
“I feel like I’m made only of weak spots,” Fernando sighs.  
  
“I used to think that too,” Javi smiles. “I also used to think that he broke me. It’s amazing how wrong you can be about your own person.”  
  
Fernando gives a little smile. Suddenly a group of girls walks out of one of the passages. María doesn’t even try to pretend that she is surprised to see Javi there because it’s clear that they had learned each other’s ways and know exactly where and when they can see each other.  
  
“Wait!” Javi calls when the girls pass them by.  
  
María stops while the two girls accompanying her walk a few steps away, and Fernando stops as well, looking away discreetly.  
  
“What is this?” Javi asks quietly, running a finger across a bruise on her face, badly hidden with powder and rouge.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Javi says. “Did he hit you?”  
  
María sighs and looks around.  
  
“And what do you want to do about it?” she whispers. “You can’t do anything.”  
  
“I’d kill him if I could get to him,” Javi growls.  
  
“But you can’t,” María smiles sadly. “He’s the sultan’s right hand. There’s nothing you can do.”  
  
“Maybe there is something I can do,” Javi smiles. “If you help me.”  
  
His friends, commanders and even his father always warned him not to share secrets and important things with women, but that rule sounded like a nonsense to him even then, and now it isn’t relevant at all. This is a completely different world and if it is about intrigues, women are probably better at it.  
  
“You mean...” María bites her lip and turns to her friends to make sure they can’t hear them. “I could try to sneak out of his rooms tonight. The sultan is organizing some feast. Could you come as well?”  
  
“Unless I’m supposed to be a part of that feast... as food, for example,” Javi grins.  
  
María laughs and runs to her friends. Javi rejoins Fernando and ignores his suspicious look. Sharing secrets with women is maybe bad. Sharing them with desperate people is suicide.

 

***

 

When the night falls, the atmosphere in the harem becomes more tense than usual. It’s long past the time when the sultan sends for his concubines. Pedro has already eaten all the figs in the bowl out of nervousness and Jesús is bothering everyone with his theories about what might have happened. Also Javi looks nervous because when the guard hasn’t come yet, he can’t sneak out of the harem. Most likely the guard wouldn’t count the concubines, but even though the chances that the sultan would remember him after all the time are quite slim, he can’t be sure about it.  
  
Suddenly the guard walks in and looks around.  
  
“You,” he says and points at Fernando.  
  
Fernando feels his heart beat in his throat. He gets up by pure power of will and makes a few steps to the guard.  
  
“And you,” the guard says suddenly and points at Sergio.  
  
Sergio looks up completely frightened.   
  
“Hurry up!” the guard snaps.  
  
With all his limbs shaking, Sergio gets up. Fernando tries to exchange looks with him as they walk down the long corridors of the palace, but Sergio puts all his effort into avoiding Fernando's eyes. It worries Fernando more than the actual thought of seeing the sultan again.   
  
When they pass the door of the sultan’s bedroom, Fernando knows that it most likely means nothing good at all.

 

***

 

Javi and María are not the only people having a secret meeting in the gardens. Marc and Sergi meet by the fountain, hidden behind the huge statues so that even if someone looked out of the windows of the palace, they couldn’t see them in the shadows.  
  
“When your father is here, meeting like this is pure madness!” Marc says.  
  
“I know,” Sergi whispers and kisses him. “All of this is madness.”  
  
“Are you sure you still want to do it?” Marc asks and looks him in the eyes. “I have nothing to lose, but you do.”  
  
“Most of all I don’t want to lose you.”  
  
Marc turns to the lit windows above them. Loud voices and laughter can be heard even here. It brings memories of home, of feasts, music and laughter. Laughter of people who will never laugh again. He tears his eyes from the windows and his mind from the memories.  
  
“Aren’t you supposed to be there?” he asks.  
  
“I am,” Sergi nods. “But my father knows I don’t like such feasts. For some reason he didn’t even insist on me going this time.”  
  
“You’re trembling,” Marc notes and wraps his arms around Sergi like he wants to keep him from cold, but the air around them is warm like always.  
  
“It’s hard,” Sergi whispers. “I know he is a terrible person. But he’s also my last family, and now I want to betray him. It’s... it feels like it’s tearing my soul asunder.”   
  
“You don’t have to do it. Not for me. I will understand.”  
  
“It was my plan after all,” Sergi shakes his head. “And what it requires from me is nothing compared to what it requires from you.”  
  
“But I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid at all.”  
  
“I know you’re not. I can see it in your eyes.”  
  
“The worst thing about this is that I don’t know when it will be,” Marc sighs. “He has to remember me at first.”  
  
“I could help that,” Sergi says.  
  
Marc looks at him and narrows his eyes.  
  
“I could mention you,” Sergi smiles. “Just like that. Remind him of you. Provoke him a little.”  
  
“Good,” Marc nods. “That makes sense. Tomorrow?”  
  
“Tomorrow,” Sergi whispers.

 

***

 

Fernando feels almost dizzy when the guard leads them to the big hall full of people. The mixture of different perfumes, sweat, food, and aromatic substances burning in the large bowls on the floor almost makes him feel sick. People in colorful, expensive clothes are either sitting or laying around a huge table with food, or talking in small groups. There are also servants passing among them, offering drinks, and a group of musicians is playing on a balcony.  
  
The sultan is sitting in the middle of the huge table, eating and laughing at something a man next to him is saying. He puts his plate back on the table when he spots them.  
  
“Oh, finally!” he says and washes his hands in a bowl of water that one servant hands him, then takes a towel from another and wipes his hands dry. “Welcome.”  
  
Fernando glances at Sergio who is trembling like a dry leaf.  
  
“My friends!” the sultan says in a loud voice and also the musicians stop playing. “You know that I only came back yesterday from a visit, and the journey was long and exhausting. This is why tonight I will leave you early.”  
  
Some obligatory discontented groans sound from the crowd and he silences them with a gesture.  
  
“However, I wish... and my wish equals an order... for you to have fun as long as you please. There is enough food and drinks, and as for your amusement...”  
  
He looks at Sergio and Fernando and smirks.  
  
“My jewels here will be at your disposition.”  
  
Fernando opens his mouth but can’t utter a sound. The sultan gets up, waits for a servant to put his clothes into order and then heads to the door. He stops in front of Sergio and Fernando for a moment.  
  
“I hope you understand why you are here,” he whispers and looks at Fernando. “You didn’t want to be at my disposition, you turned down the opportunity to be my crown jewel. So you will be at everyone’s disposition.”  
  
He turns to Sergio.  
  
“As for you, you called yourself the crown jewel. This shall remind you that I decide about the titles in this country. Whatever title it might be.”  
  
He looks around his shoulder at the men who are now whispering to each other excitedly.  
  
“I hope you will not disappoint my friends,” he says. “Because about my friends I care deeply.”   
  
Then he is gone, the massive wooden door closed behind him with a thud that feels like the final thud of a judge’s hammer.


	9. Nine

Fernando wishes he could die right now.   
  
The man who took charge after the sultan left is the first minister, as much Fernando deduced from the way the others spoke to him, and he understands Javi’s desire to kill him perfectly. He is just the type that would beat women and do awful things to people.  
  
For the start he decides that Fernando and Sergio will serve as tables. The other men praise his idea like it is the best thing they’ve ever heard of, then make them strip and let the servants arrange food all over their naked bodies. They eat while talking about things that make Fernando want to throw up maybe even more than the way they are touching and licking him all over.  
  
“What about a good show?” the first minister asks when they’re finished. “I like watching things while digesting.”  
  
The other men laugh.  
  
“You’re just too lazy, José,” one of them says and José gives him a grin.  
  
“Well, boys,” he says then. “I actually asked the sultan about this and he was generous enough to lift his ban for one night.”  
  
Fernando gives Sergio a confused glance like he wants to ask what José is talking about, but Sergio is pale and his lips are trembling.  
  
“Yes, indeed,” José nods like he can read his mind. “We want to watch the two of you together.”  
  
“I can’t,” Fernando whispers when Sergio shuffles closer to him.  
  
Sergio actually looks like he's gathered some courage, like it’s not the worst thing that could have happened to them. For Fernando it’s pretty much awful.  
  
“You can,” Sergio says quietly. “I’ll let you on top. It’s alright. It won’t hurt.”  
  
Fernando just looks at him with wide eyes.   
  
“We are not here to watch you talk,” José says.  
  
“Do it,” Sergio says, leaning closer to Fernando. “We have to get out of here alive, and if we please them, we will. Just do it.”  
  
Fernando recognizes bits of the old Sergio, the determined one. He nods and licks his lips. He tries hard to forget about the many pairs of eyes watching them, even though it’s difficult. The looks are almost tangible, hungry, devouring them.   
  
José leans back on the pillows, smiling contentedly. A servant brings him another cup of wine. There’s also one servant settling among the men with a plate full of sweets – chocolates, marzipan, colorful small cubes covered in sugar. Fernando is sure he will never be able to even look at those again without feeling sick.

 

***

 

“So here,” María says and pushes a strand of hair out of her face as she draws something roughly resembling a map with her finger in the sand. “Are the sultan’s rooms.”  
  
“That I know,” Javi nods. “I was there.”  
  
María gives him a quick glance but doesn’t say anything. Instead she draws a few more lines.  
  
“Then these are the prince’s rooms. In the middle is the dining hall.”  
  
“And the floor below?”  
  
“These are the first minister’s rooms,” she says, drawing parallel lines to the ones already in the sand. “And these two are mine. Well, this is our common one, but this I have to myself.”  
  
Javi nods and bites his lip.  
  
“I don’t know how this could help,” he sighs.  
  
“A lot,” María says. “Mine has a balcony.”  
  
Javi looks at her and shakes his head.  
  
“No, that’s... that’s insane.”  
  
“Your plan is insane,” María says. “Then it doesn’t matter if a tiny piece of it is insane as well.”  
  
She looks at the plan she drew.  
  
“The guards will be here and here. You can’t get out of this floor otherwise. Out of the other, though... well, as you can see, I’m here now.”  
  
“And what do you know about the palace gates?” Javi asks.  
  
“Why do you think that I know more than you do?” María smiles.  
  
“Well, because when you go around, the guards don’t suspect you are sniffing around. They watch you and don’t care what you’re doing. I would, if I were a guard.”  
  
María blushes and laughs.  
  
“My windows are facing the small gate in the back of the gardens. They bring food that way sometimes, and I always see beggars there because the guards there aren’t so strict and don’t throw them out. It’s a small gate, they don’t have to be so vigilant.”  
  
“How many of them?” Javi asks.  
  
María shrugs.  
  
“Four, usually.”  
  
“That’s still too many.”  
  
“Too many for what?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. But if something caught their attention...”  
  
“Or someone?” María raises her brows.  
  
Javi smiles and kisses her.

 

***

 

The sultan smiles when Sergi joins him at the table at breakfast.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, pouring tea in his cup.  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Sergi lies despite being awake almost all night. “And you?”  
  
“Very well. I left the feast early. I think the others really had fun, though.”  
  
“Why is that?”   
  
“I gave them some toys, I think they played until the morning,” the sultan laughs.  
  
“You now let others to play with your toys?” Sergi asks.  
  
The sultan blinks in surprise at the calm voice, so different from the usual disgust that mixes in anytime they bring this topic up.  
  
“I was tired,” he says then. “And besides, it was meant as a punishment.”  
  
“Oh. I thought you already had so many concubines that you couldn’t attend to all of them personally,” Sergi smiles. “You even start forgetting about some of them.”  
  
“About who did I forget?” the sultan frowns.  
  
“I wonder what happened to the boy, you know, the captive. I haven’t heard about him since.”  
  
“Ah!” the sultan places a hand on his forehead. “Indeed! See, I’m becoming old.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Sergi smiles. “You just have many things to think about. It’s only natural that you forget about the less important ones.”  
  
The sultan practically feels the warmth spreading in his heart. For the first time he feels like they are having a conversation as equals, like finally they are not fighting over every word and every principle, like finally this is the son he desired.  
  
“I can’t be so forgetful, though,” he says then. “I’ll send for him tonight. We shall see if he’s still so proud.”

 

***

 

Fernando wakes up when the voices of the others reach him from the other rooms. He opens his eyes and the memories start coming back and he has to take a deep breath to prevent himself from throwing up.   
  
He realizes that Sergio saved them both. He showed them what they wanted to see, took it all upon himself and made them almost forget about Fernando.   
  
He turns to Sergio’s bed, but it’s already empty. He crawls out of the bed and drags his feet to the pool. Everyone is already there, but as they don’t pay any attention to him, he figures that Sergio didn’t tell them about what they had to do the night before.  
  
“Are you alright?” Sergio asks.  
  
Fernando avoids his eyes. He simply can’t look him in the eyes, not after what happened, despite Sergio’s assuring that it was alright.  
  
He glances over to the pool. Jesús and Pedro are stuffing themselves with breakfast, Nacho and Casemiro are splashing in the pool, Mesut is reading and Javi is sitting in the corner of the room, talking with Marc.  
  
“Don’t they mind?” Fernando whispers. “Did they never mind?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Sergio asks.  
  
“Why is it just me he thinks he has to punish? Did everyone else just comply to all his wishes?”  
  
“Mostly, yes,” Sergio nods with a sad smile. “I did. Mesut is the kind of boy who will only cry afterwards in a corner when nobody can see him. Nacho, Jesús... they are not really the types to fight it. I think you’re the only one who valued his pride higher than his life. And that makes you the sultan’s enemy.”  
  
“I’m sorry you have to suffer with me when it’s my fault.”  
  
“I’m not sure you can really call it a fault.”  
  
Fernando finally finds the courage to lift his eyes to meet Sergio’s.  
  
“I really didn’t hurt you?” he asks.  
  
Sergio laughs shortly.  
  
“You really didn’t. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
He squeezes Fernando's shoulder and then enters the pool.   
  
“What is it between you two?” Jesús calls. “You’re nearly inseparable lately.”  
  
Sergio just rolls his eyes and splashes water at him.

 

***

 

Fernando thinks it’s a terrible thing to wish on anyone to be called up by the sultan, but he really is grateful that it isn’t his turn again. He is convinced that he would indeed rather throw himself off some tower. When the guard points at Marc, he feels relieved, though a bit guilty. Marc gets up calmly and to everyone’s surprise even smiles.  
  
“Poor boy,” Pedro sighs and reaches for a cluster of grapes. “He went mad like Jesús.”  
  
Jesús smashes him over the head with a feather fan he uses to refresh himself. The tension slowly subsides and everyone goes to their usual pastimes. Nacho and Casemiro play cards, Mesut goes to his bedroom to pray, Pedro and Jesús gossip about some courtiers.   
  
They lift their heads when loud voices sound from the outside together with fast steps. It looks like some chaos broke in the palace. Jesús immediately runs out to find out what is happening. He knows people who he gets gossip from, so he only needs to find them. The others are just looking at each other confusedly, even Mesut comes back from the bedroom.   
  
“It sounds like there is a fire,” Pedro frowns.   
  
“Or an enemy outside the gates,” Mesut nods.   
  
Jesús runs back in moments later, trying to catch his breath.  
  
“What’s going on?” Pedro asks.  
  
“It’s Marc,” Jesús breathes out. “He... he stabbed the sultan with a dagger!”  
  
Almost everyone jumps up. Some look at Jesús like they are trying to figure out if he didn’t make it up, the others are terrified.  
  
“Is... is the sultan...” Sergio starts.  
  
“Not yet. But he’s badly hurt, they say,” Jesús says and drinks a glass of water.  
  
“And Marc?”  
  
“They are looking for him,” Jesús shrugs. “They’re bound to find him, though. He couldn’t get far.”  
  
“But... how did he...” Pedro blurts out.  
  
“Nobody knows how it could happen. I mean, he couldn‘t have hidden the dagger anywhere on himself, could he?” Jesús frowns. “But what will happen if the sultan dies? I mean, what will happen to us? They could behead us all as well, if they suspect we had anything to do with it!”  
  
“Don’t panic,” Nacho says. “Maybe he won‘t die.”  
  
“If Marc stabbed him where I told him, he will,” Javi says.   
  
He stares calmly into space, like he is unaware of the shocked glances they give him.  
  
“What?” Sergio breathes out. “You...”  
  
Javi looks at him calmly and smiles.  
  
“Just before he dies, he will suffer,” he says then. “For making us all suffer.”

 

***

 

Xavi walks in Sergi’s room and looks at him. Sergi doesn’t even move, just continues staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Well, I’ve heard that you were ill,” Xavi says and sits on the bed. “But it doesn’t look like you suffer from any illness I know how to cure. I don’t know how to mend a broken heart... or soul.”  
  
“Is he going to die?” Sergi asks quietly. “But tell me the truth.”  
  
Xavi sighs.  
  
“Yes, he is,” he says then. “Even if not of the wound. The blade pierced the intestines. That infects the blood and because of that, he is going to die. There’s nothing to be done about it.”  
  
“Xavi... you know when they were wondering how the dagger could get in my father’s room?” Sergi asks and looks at him.  
  
“Yes. Your father said it was under the pillow.”  
  
Sergi nods, tears filling his eyes.  
  
“I put it there,” he sobs. “I left it there, for Marc.”  
  
Xavi swallows hard.  
  
“I killed my father, Xavi!” Sergi whispers.   
  
Xavi looks at him with a mix of horror and compassion. Then he pulls him close and lets him cry in his cloak.


	10. Ten

“Poor boy,” Xavi whispers after Sergi practically cries himself to sleep.  
  
He is terrified not only by the fact that something led the boy to betraying his adoptive father for a concubine - and knowing the young prince he knows also that simple feelings wouldn’t be the cause - but also by the prospect of someone finding out who really was behind the whole plan. He cannot even imagine what consequences it would have for the whole country.  
  
It wouldn’t be the first time someone acquired power through murder, of course, no matter that the throne was probably the last thing Sergi cared about. But even before Xavi was afraid of the day when the sultan would die and Sergi would have to take his place, because he knew as well as Pep and anyone else who knew Sergi well that he wasn’t the right person to rule such a big country. Sergi disliked intrigues, wars, violence and generally all that a ruler had to deal with.   
  
Only that Xavi imagined the day to come maybe in ten, fifteen, even twenty years. He imagined the day to come when Sergi would be a middle-aged man with a family, mature enough to understand that all those things were inevitable and necessary.  
  
Now the day can come today, tomorrow or in two days, and the boy isn’t ready, the court is full of schemers of the likes of the first minister and the rulers of the other countries will see the situation as an opportunity to try to win the throne in a war.  
  
And on top of all that, Sergi is in love with a concubine who actually murdered the sultan. Xavi isn’t sure if this isn’t the most dangerous of all things.

 

***

 

It is long past midnight, but nobody in the harem is asleep. Jesús and Pedro are leading the pointless discussion of  _what if_ , while Nacho and Casemiro are listening to them, occasionally glancing over to Javi. Javi is sitting in one of the corners calmly like the situation doesn‘t even concern him, like he is unaware of the worried looks the others are giving him. Mesut is praying quietly in the other corner and nobody knows if he‘s praying for the sultan to die or to stay alive.  
  
Fernando and Sergio are keeping to themselves. Sergio seems to be lost in thoughts and Fernando is worried.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” he asks Sergio after a while.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sergio whispers. “Maybe I’m not really thinking about anything.”  
  
“I am,” Fernando says.  
  
“What?”  
  
“About home,” Fernando whispers. “And that maybe now, I could go back.”  
  
“How?” Sergio asks.  
  
“You said yourself Sergi wasn’t like the sultan. You said he disliked the concubines. Why would he keep us here, then?”  
  
Sergio shrugs and continues staring at the wall.  
  
“I don’t know if it’s not what I’m afraid of, actually,” he says then.  
  
“Afraid of?” Fernando frowns.  
  
“Yes,” Sergio says and looks at him. “I have no home, Fernando. I have no one, nothing to come back to. This is all I know. These people, you, Javi, even the annoying Pedro and Jesús, are the only family I have. This palace is my only home. And if I lose it all, I’ll have nothing, I’ll have no one, nowhere to go.”  
  
Fernando opens his mouth but he doesn’t know what to say. He himself doesn’t have anyone, doesn’t have a house because he lost it together with his freedom. But there is still the freedom he could get back, and nothing else would matter to him. He could always find some job, make enough money to feed himself. Everything would be better than this. And that Sergio doesn’t think the same really scares him.

 

***

 

The curtains around Sergi‘s bed move slightly with the air stirred by a movement in the darkness. One of the light pieces of fabric brushes against his cheek and wakes him up, in time to see the dark figure standing by his bed, but too late to react before a silk rope wraps around his neck. Some voice in his mind keeps yelling that he should put more heart into fighting for his life, but he‘s exhausted, sleepy and scared, and maybe somewhere deep inside he is convinced that he actually deserves to die.  
  
Suddenly the rope is gone and he can hear the muffled sounds of a fight, someone‘s ragged breath and thuds. He can‘t move, even though he should probably try to run away, or he should try to scream, call for help, but no sound ever comes out of his mouth.   
  
Then there is silence, and suddenly the mattress dips under the weight of someone‘s body and in the next moment, Marc has his arms around Sergi, pulling him up and running his hands over his back comfortingly.  
  
“It’s alright, calm down, it’s alright, breathe...” he whispers  
  
Breathing hurts at first and Sergi’s eyes fill with tears.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he rasps then.  
  
“It was impossible to escape, they closed the gates too fast,” Marc explains, glancing over to the motionless figure on the floor, making sure that whoever it is, he is not going to wake up ever again.  
  
“You mean that you‘ve been hiding here in the palace all the time?” Sergi whispers, looking at Marc with round, terrified eyes.  
  
“It‘s not that hard to hide here. María helped me.”  
  
“Who is María?”  
  
“The first minister’s favorite concubine,“ Marc smiles. “And, more importantly, Javi‘s secret love.”  
  
Sergi just blinks.  
  
“How many people are on this?”  
  
“Maybe more than you think,” Marc says and then lowers his voice. “Now listen. There is only one explanation to this, Sergi. That your father knows it was you who put that dagger there, and he probably assumed you did it because you wanted the throne. This is his way of making sure you won’t get it.”  
  
“How would he...”  
  
“From someone who knows about it.”  
  
“No,” Sergi shakes his head. “I told just Xavi, and Xavi would never betray me.”  
  
“Then he had to simply guess it,” Marc shrugs. “It still means the same thing – I made a mistake when I listened to Javi. I should have killed him right away. And he has to die as soon as possible.”  
  
“But...” Sergi takes a breath.  
  
“I have to kill him before he hurts you again.”  
  
Sergi bites his lip and looks Marc in the eyes, as if looking for courage there.  
  
“You won’t get to him,” he shakes his head. “There are guards by the door. Not even I would get to him now, probably.”  
  
“There has to be a way.”  
  
“Yes, there is,” Sergi nods. “Don’t worry. I will take care of it.”  
  
Marc looks at him a bit skeptically, but the fear is now gone from Sergi’s eyes, replaced by determination.   
  
“Good,” he breathes out and looks at the body on the floor again. “I should take care at least of this.”  
  
Sergi grips his sleeves desperately.  
  
“No,” he whispers. “Please, don’t go yet.”  
  
“I have to,” Marc says and kisses him. “Be careful.”  
  
“You too.”  
  
Marc nods and gets out of the bed, then walks over to the window, checking that the garden is empty and deciding where to hide the body. Not that it really matters, but if he does it well, it can buy them more time.  
  
“Marc?” Sergi whispers.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I love you. More than anything.”  
  
Marc smiles.  
  
“You know, I would be really thick if I haven’t realized by now,” he says.

 

***

 

Ironically, when everyone in the harem is worried, Fernando goes to bed for the first time not being afraid of what the next day will bring. The sultan is badly hurt, there is no way he would be thinking of his concubines at the moment. Also the guards have other problems now and Fernando noticed that they aren’t even watching over the harem so diligently.  
  
At any other moment, maybe he would try to escape. But if what Javi said is true and the sultan will die, it would be an unnecessary risk. He should just wait and see what comes out of the situation.  
  
He turns his head and looks at Sergio. Sergio’s eyes are wide open, he is staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Sergio?” Fernando whispers.   
  
Sergio looks at him.  
  
“If it really happens and we’re free...” Fernando says and looks over his shoulder to make sure Nacho and Jesús are asleep. “Would you go with me?”  
  
“Where to?” Sergio asks, but in the tone that lacks real interest, like he asks Fernando to tell him more about some world that doesn’t exist, like they are talking about a dream.  
  
“I don’t know, I don’t care,” Fernando shrugs. “I guess, back to the city I come from. People know me there. I could get a job there, maybe a room would come with it...”  
  
“What would I do?” Sergio asks. “I’m not good at anything, I don’t know anything. I never worked. All I know is...”  
  
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, but Fernando feels his heart grow heavy. He remembers Javi’s words. Sergio was still almost a child when he came here. He never worked and all he knows is pleasing the sultan. It’s the only thing he was ever taught.  
  
“Well, you could do anything,” Fernando says in a light voice. “You’re not stupid, you would learn. What did you want to do when you were a kid?”  
  
Sergio is silent for a while, like he is trying to remember the days when he was still a kid, or trying to believe that such days ever existed.  
  
“I liked animals,” he says then. “We had rabbits. I liked them.”  
  
Fernando wants to say something, but in that very moment Jesús’ high-pitched laughter sounds from the other side of the room. Fernando and Sergio almost jump up.  
  
“Rabbits...” Jesús sobs.  
  
“Jesús!” Nacho says, and judging by his voice he’s laughing as well. “Couldn’t you pretend to be asleep for a bit more? We could have heard more!”  
  
“I’m sorry...” Jesús says. “But... rabbits...”  
  
Fernando gives Sergio a worried glance, but Sergio throws a pillow at Jesús and he doesn’t even look offended.   
  
“Jesús, you know what always intrigued me?” he asks.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Why the sultan wanted someone as annoying as you are here. Do you think you were supposed to be our punishment?”  
  
Jesús throws the pillow back at him and pretends that he’s going back to sleep. Nacho keeps giggling for some time but then also falls silent. Sergio turns to Fernando and then reaches out in the darkness. Fernando finds his hand in the space between their beds and holds it.

 

***

 

Xavi glances to Gerard who is standing by the door as if he wants to know what he should expect once he walks in the room, but Gerard has his unreadable expression that looks constantly a bit annoyed.  
  
He notes with relief that Sergi has at least left the nest of his bed.   
  
“What...” Xavi starts and touches the bruise on Sergi’s neck.  
  
“That doesn’t matter,” Sergi says and backs up to avoid Xavi’s touch.  
  
“Then why did you call me?” Xavi asks.  
  
“Because I need something from you.”  
  
He looks out of the window and plays with the curtain absent-mindedly for a while.  
  
“How is my father doing?” he asks then in a blunt voice.  
  
“I told you already that his condition was fatal,” Xavi says. “But your father is a strong man.”  
  
“Yes,” Sergi says and turns to him. “This is why I called you.”  
  
He walks up to Xavi slowly and then leans closer to whisper in his ear despite the room being empty. Xavi gulps audibly when Sergi is done speaking.  
  
“Do you know what you’re asking from me?” he whispers and looks at him with wide eyes.  
  
“Yes,” Sergi says with an eerie calmness. “I am asking you to kill my father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History fact: The sultans had mute eunuchs at their disposition, whose special task was to strangle princes and viziers the sultans needed to get rid of, with silk ropes.


	11. Eleven

Xavi’s hands don’t shake when he mixes the ingredients together. They don’t shake when he drops the tincture in the glass of water and they don’t shake when he hands it to the sultan.  
  
The decision was hard to make. Once he came to terms with it, the fear somehow subsided.  
  
The room is empty, the guards are outside the door. They don’t suspect Xavi. He is supposed to heal, not kill people. The sultan doesn‘t suspect him either, until it‘s too late.  
  
“Poison,” he whispers. “You gave me poison.”  
  
Xavi doesn‘t say anything, doesn‘t move, doesn‘t confirm it nor deny it. To his surprise, the sultan lets out what sounds like a chuckle.  
  
“It was him, wasn’t it? Sergi. He asked you to do it.”  
  
Xavi closes his eyes.  
  
“Please, forgive him,” he whispers. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, but forgive the boy.”  
  
“Forgive...” the sultan sputters. “I... I am sort of... proud of him. Maybe... this is what I was trying to teach him.”  
  
Xavi doesn’t really understand it, to be honest he stopped understanding things around him the night they knocked on his door and told him to rush to the sultan’s room, the night he found the man bleeding on the satin sheets, the blood soaking in the soft mattress. Or maybe, a tiny voice in his head told him already that night, he stopped understanding things when Gerard asked him to follow him to the harem and when the prince insisted on him tending to a boy he saw for the first time in his life.  
  
He walks over to the window and pushes the curtains aside, to let the soul out, as already his grandmother taught him. He washes the cup carefully so that nobody can find out about the poison, and hides the tiny bottle in one of the many pockets of his coat.  
  
Then he walks out of the room.

 

***

 

The night is falling and Fernando realizes that before, they were at least waiting to see who the sultan would send for, but now they are waiting for nothing.   
  
Suddenly the trumpets sound from the battlements, but the melody isn’t like anything Fernando has ever heard. He turns to Sergio who is looking up to the sky, like he can see the melody fading in there.  
  
“He’s dead,” he whispers. “The sultan is dead.”  
  
Fernando blinks, because there are tears in Sergio’s eyes. “You’re crying for him?” he wants to ask but suddenly it feels inappropriate.   
  
Mesut falls on his knees in the corner of the room and starts praying. Fernando is bewildered. While he thinks everyone should rejoice, the atmosphere is completely different. Pedro and Jesús stop bickering, Nacho and Casemiro remain sitting on the pillows with their eyes closed, even Javi has a somehow solemn expression, though Fernando thinks he is more worried about the causes and consequences of the sultan’s death.   
  
Fernando approaches Javi because Sergio still seems a bit lost in thoughts, like he can’t decide whether to be happy or sad.   
  
“What will happen now?” Fernando asks.  
  
“Well, I don’t know the exact customs here, but I suppose it’s the same everywhere,” Javi says. “The sultan will be buried in his mausoleum. There will be a period of mourning. And then the young prince will be crowned as the new sultan. Though basically he became the new sultan in the moment of the old one’s death. The country has to have a ruler.”  
  
“But... what will happen to us?” Fernando asks.  
  
Javi shrugs and sighs.  
  
“Only time will tell, I guess,” he says. “Strictly speaking we now belong to Sergi like everything else.”  
  
He looks at Fernando and smiles sympathetically.  
  
“I hope you didn’t think the moment the sultan would die, they would let us all go.”  
  
In all honesty, Fernando hoped it would be that way. He hoped that all Sergio told him about the young prince despising the concubines was true and that he would want to get rid of them as soon as possible. Though when he looks at it rationally, if his father, albeit adoptive, died, some concubines would be probably the last thing on his mind, mainly if he had a whole giant country to rule.  
  
He now actually is more afraid than before. He’s afraid everyone will forget about his existence, about all the concubines, and they will just stay there in the routine that never changes.   
  
He walks out in the garden and immediately notices that there are more guards at the gates and some of them are even guarding the passages. Two of them eye him suspiciously, but then let him pass. He knows well who they are looking for, and prays in his mind for Marc to be already far away because now that the sultan is dead, his crime became even graver.  
  
He lifts his head and sees the flag on the highest tower being taken down. It fills him with hope and he’s scared to feel it.   
  
But that hope is the only thing he has left.

 

***

 

José listens to the trumpets like they are playing his favorite song. He bows his head, not as much out of respect as to hide the smirk on his face.  
  
The sultan gave him a lot of power, but José could never have enough power. He always aims higher and wants more. But there were boundaries the sultan had set. He was mistrustful and careful by nature. Right now José is sure he only has to do the right thing and Sergi will become a tamed puppy that will give him whatever José desires. And if not, he will just take it. Sergi is nobody José should fear.  
  
He leans over the stone wall and looks at the garden. It looks peaceful, like it’s an ordinary day and not probably the most important day in the history of this country, and mainly, the most important day in José’s life. José watches the person walking around the garden, the sultan’s most expensive jewel, the concubine that was supposed to become his favorite. He smiles. If the sultan let him have his jewel, even if just for a while, he can have everything he wants now, and forever.  
  
He turns around and goes back to the palace to start the preparations for the funeral. The sooner people forget about the old sultan, the better.

 

***

 

When Fernando comes back, there is still silence in the harem. Everyone is already in their bedrooms, even though it‘s not yet too late.   
  
Sergio is sitting on his bed, staring at the embroidered curtains. Jesús is still tossing and turning in his bed and Nacho maybe isn‘t asleep either, but Fernando doesn‘t mind this time.   
  
“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.  
  
Sergio just shrugs.  
  
“I don’t know. Just... empty.”  
  
Fernando reaches out and takes Sergio by the hand. Sergio takes a deep breath like he wants to say something, but then lets it out again and stays silent for long minutes.  
  
“You know...” he starts when Fernando already thinks they will just sit there like that, in silence. “Maybe a few months ago, I would be sorry for him. Maybe I would have really felt sorrow because he was dead. But after what he did, to me, to... to you, I can’t.”  
  
Fernando doesn’t say anything. He feels like he’s not supposed to say anything, because it’s not what Sergio needs. He just needs to say all those things, all those feelings, get them out, and feel like someone is listening.  
  
“I though I was different than the others, you know? I thought that I was somehow special for him. I was even proud of it.”  
  
He runs a hand through his hair and pauses before speaking again.  
  
“Then he took me to some foreign city and threw me to his friend’s bed, let him do whatever he wanted to do with me, and had me beg for him to take me back here and not leave me there.”  
  
He laughs humorlessly.   
  
“I was a fool. I could never be special. For anyone.”  
  
“You are special,” Fernando whispers. “For me.”  
  
Sergio looks up to him and he suddenly looks like a little boy, surprised, unsure about what to do, how to react. Fernando looks over his shoulder to check whether Jesús and Nacho are spying on them again, but Nacho seems to be sound asleep and Jesús probably has other things on his mind as he’s turned his back to them.  
  
So Fernando musters the courage and kisses Sergio.

 

***

 

The throne suddenly looks too big and too high. Sergi can still remember the first time he tried to sit on it, in secret, when his family was still alive and he was a little boy. It was pure curiosity, a child’s play, the desire to pretend he ruled the world, or at least the country that meant the world to him at that time. He would never think that he would one day really have to sit on the throne and rule that country.  
  
And now it scares him.  
  
The door opens and the first minister walks in, quickly and resolutely. Sergi is sure he would have no doubts, no fears, no respect if it was up to him to sit on the throne. He also knows that it’s the reason why he can’t do any mistakes because José will be there, watching his every step.  
  
“Sire,” José says and bows. “Thank you for receiving me.”  
  
“Minister,” Sergi nods. “What was so urgent?”  
  
“Sire,” José grins like he just found a legendary treasure. “You wouldn’t believe who I found in my concubine’s rooms.”  
  
He snaps his fingers and the door opens again. Sergi half-rises from his chair when the guards throw Marc on the marble floor in front of him. He just stares at José like he is expecting an explanation, though he doesn’t really need one.  
  
“I can’t believe that we were looking for him everywhere for days, and he was in my wing, right under my nose,” José chuckles. “His insolence has no limits it seems.”  
  
Sergi looks at Marc, who is keeping his head down, apparently to make it easier for Sergi to pretend that he doesn’t know him, and then back at José.  
  
“What are you expecting me to do now?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay calm.  
  
José looks taken aback, even offended, by not being praised nor given any reward.  
  
“You, of course, just have to sign the sentence once the trial will be over,” he informs Sergi in a cold voice. “In case you didn’t have time to read the penal code yet, the punishment for high treason is burning.”


	12. Twelve

Jesús runs in the common room, trying to catch his breath. Then he grabs the goblet of wine Pedro is holding and downs it in a few gulps before Pedro can even object.  
  
“They got Marc,” he whispers. “The first minister apparently found him in his concubine’s rooms.”  
  
“Wh... are you sure?” Pedro asks while Javi stalks closer to them, his face beyond worried.  
  
“The servant who is in charge of the great hall told me. He  _saw_  it when they brought him in.”  
  
“Damn,” Casemiro bites his lip. “That means that...”  
  
“That means that we’re probably in trouble,” Jesús says gloomily. “I mean, who knows what they will do to him. And who knows what he will tell them.”  
  
“Jesús, are you ever worried about anyone else than yourself?” Mesut asks and it’s so shocking to hear him speak that everyone just stares at him for a while.  
  
“Marc is not you, Jesús,” Javi says quietly. “And as far as I know you had nothing to do with the sultan’s murder, or did you?”  
  
“Of course not!” Jesús yells like he is already standing in front of the tribunal.  
  
“Did they say anything about the concubine?” Javi asks him.  
  
“What concubine?”  
  
“The one whose rooms they found Marc in.”  
  
“No,” Jesús shakes his head. “Why the hell would you care about a concubine now?”  
  
Javi doesn’t answer, he just turns away and heads to the door that leads out of the common room. He almost bumps into the guard who enters it. Javi backs up and narrows his shoulders like he expects the guard to take him right to prison. But the guard has no interest in him and beckons him to move past him.  
  
The he points to Fernando.

 

***

 

The prison is located in the dungeons below the palace. The sun never enters the long, narrow corridors, the only light thus coming from a few torches on the walls. As the stone walls never get the chance to soak in the heat during the day, at night it’s extremely cold in there.   
  
It’s the scariest place Sergi has ever entered. The shadows moving on the walls seem to belong to nothing and no one, the silence is eerie and yet not perfect, underlined with the hissing of the burning torches, the steps of the jailers and occasionally a voice coming from one of the cells. He wraps his woolen shawl tighter around him though he is not sure if the chills are from the cold.  
  
When he reaches Marc’s cell, Marc jumps up and runs to him like Sergi is the light and he the moth that was in the darkness for too long. They embrace each other as tightly as they can with the iron bars separating them, and slide down to the floor. Marc’s hands are ice cold. Sergi takes off the woolen shawl and wraps it around Marc’s shoulders.   
  
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  
  
Marc grabs his hands before they can leave his body and squeezes them reassuringly.  
  
“It’s alright. We tried it. It didn’t work out.”  
  
“No, it’s not alright, it’s not... ”   
  
“I don’t regret anything, I will tell them that. I will tell them why I did it and I will tell them who I am. There’s no point in pretending anymore, I want to at least die as who I really am.”  
  
“No!” Sergi cries. “I can’t kill you, I won’t let them kill you!”  
  
“Sergi! Listen to me!” Marc tries, but Sergi twists his hands free of his grip.  
  
“No, I can’t... I can’t listen to you telling me that it’s alright and you don’t regret it and that you’re not afraid of dying, for God’s sake, they are going to burn you alive!”   
  
“I know. And I  _am_  scared. But I don’t regret anything.”  
  
Sergi is already openly crying and doesn‘t even try to stop Marc when he reaches for his hand again.  
  
“Promise me you’ll stay safe. You mustn’t ever reveal to them that the plan was yours, that you had anything to do with it, that you know me. Promise.”  
  
Sergi shakes his head desperately. Marc pulls him closer and kisses him. Sergi’s lips shiver against his and the kiss tastes like tears.  
  
“Now promise,” Marc whispers.  
  
“I promise,” Sergi sniffles.   
  
Suddenly he looks like a scared little child and Marc can‘t imagine him ruling a country so big, can‘t imagine it at all, but he knows he won‘t be there to see it.  
  
“Go before someone sees you,” he says then, surprised how much courage those words take up.  
  
He waits until he can’t hear Sergi’s steps anymore. Then he curls up in the furthest corner of his cell and wraps the shawl around him, breathing in what little is left of Sergi’s scent.

 

***

 

Sergio finds Javi in the gardens. He is beyond worried for Fernando, but judging from Javi‘s face, he‘s not the only one with worries.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Sergio asks.  
  
“Gathering courage to go and confess to aiding and abetting Marc with the sultan’s murder,” Javi says bluntly.  
  
Sergio‘s eyes go wide.  
  
“Why would you do that?”  
  
Javi looks him in the eyes.  
  
“Because if María dies, I want to die, too.”  
  
“But what if she doesn’t die?” Sergio asks. “You don’t know the punishment yet. The first minister might vouch for her. Maybe he doesn’t want her dead. She’s his favorite.”  
  
Javi shrugs and picks up a small stone from the ground.  
  
“I still blame myself. I shouldn’t have let Marc do it when the plan wasn’t perfect.”  
  
“No plan is ever perfect,” Sergio whispers. “And he killed the sultan. He almost made it. If it wasn’t for...”  
  
“For the biggest bastard right after the sultan,” Javi growls. “Who now wants the power, and if he gets it, we’re right where we were before. He’s already acting like he’s the new sultan.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Sergio asks.  
  
“Sergio...” Javi looks at him. “Who do you think sent that guard for Fernando? I know for sure it wasn’t Sergi. And who else would ever dare to do it?”

 

***

 

The guard marches down the long corridors. It‘s the part of the palace Fernando has never seen before. Then the guard stops in front of one door and ushers Fernando in.  
  
Fernando blinks into the bright light coming from maybe way too many torches and candles in the room, and then feels the breath hitch in his throat.  
  
He is looking at the first minister.  
  
“The most expensive jewel,” José drawls. “We are meeting again.”  
  
He makes a circle around Fernando while shamelessly watching him.  
  
“I hope tonight we will have the opportunity to meet closer,” José says.  
  
“But... I...” Fernando licks his dry lips. “I was told I belonged solely to the sultan.”  
  
“How could he mind? He’s dead now, isn’t he?” José smirks. “And our young sultan would have no use for you anyway. Poor boy has a myriad of other things to think about now, I doubt he even remembers that his father had a harem. And it would be a pity if you were forgotten.”  
  
Fernando‘s head spins. He scolds himself for having too much hope. He should have expected something like this to happen.  
  
“Strip,” José says simply.   
  
Fernando considers the risks of disobeying. José actually himself admitted that what he didn’t have right for what he was doing, but then, if he killed Fernando for disobedience, would Sergi even care? Fernando is just a concubine, one of the many. Maybe Sergi would scold José, or make him pay some money, or whatever, but certainly he wouldn’t be wrecking his brain over Fernando's death.  
  
Maybe disobeying now is not the greatest idea because what if the young sultan really decides to let them go when he remembers them? Fernando suddenly thinks of Sergio, of the promise he gave him. If he dies now, he won’t be able to take Sergio with him to the city and give him the life he promised they would have.  
  
José keeps watching him, like he reads the thoughts on his face and enjoys the inner fight.  
  
“Not that I’m afraid of you,” he adds. “I made sure there was no dagger under my pillows.”  
  
Fernando shivers. He makes a hesitant move, like he expects José to say he didn’t mean it, but then pulls on the ties of his shirt. The grin that appears on José’s face grows wider.  
  
“Good boy,” he says.

 

***

 

If he was disconcerted before, now Xavi is really worried. Sergi is sobbing uncontrollably in his arms, trembling and gasping for air. Xavi has to give him a tincture of valerian root to calm him down a bit, but there is only so much herbs can do.  
  
High treason is a crime nobody has dealt with for centuries here, and certainly it’s not the crime he should deal with right after taking over the reign. Even less if the person who committed it is someone he cares about.  
  
It’s also the only crime he cannot give pardon for.  
  
“If they want this country, I’ll let them have it,” Sergi says and rubs his eyes like a little child. “I don’t care. They can tear it apart and take whatever they want.”  
  
“You can’t,” Xavi says softly. “After all that happened...”  
  
“I can,” Sergi whispers. “ _Because_  of what happened. I didn’t want to reign, I didn’t want the throne. But I knew that with him I could, with him maybe I would be a good ruler. Now I don’t think that I can. And no ruler is always better than a bad one.”  
  
“You are not a bad ruler.”  
  
“I am supposed to be the most powerful person in this country, and yet I am powerless. I am supposed to be omnipotent and I can’t save the only person I love!”  
  
“There are things that you can’t change. That you have to accept.”  
  
“No, I don’t have to,” Sergi shakes his head and gets up. “When they light the pyre, I can always throw myself on it.”  
  
Xavi stands there, frozen on the spot even when Sergi is long gone. He has been the young man’s confidant for years and he knows that if he ever meant his words, it was now.


	13. Thirteen

Fernando is gripping the headboard, his fingers leaving sweaty prints on the polished dark wood. He had thought nothing could be worse than what the sultan did to him on the first night, but it was nothing compared to this. The sultan thought of him as of a jewel. José isn‘t afraid in the slightest of breaking him. After all, it wasn‘t José‘s money they bought Fernando for. Even if he died there, it would mean nothing to José.  
  
He falls forward when José lets go of his hips after what feels like eternity, and then turns on his back, staring at the ceiling.  
  
“We will be meeting more often from now on, of that I’m sure,” José smiles slyly.   
  
Fernando wants to die right there, right then.  
  
“I’m wondering whether the other concubines are as good as you are,” José continues and moves his hand over Fernando's cock lazily.  
  
Fernando closes his eyes and whimpers.   
  
“I should see for myself,” José keeps talking and moving his hand in the rhythm of his words. “Who should I try next, Fernando? Who do you think I would like?”  
  
Fernando doesn’t answer, he just balls his fists in the sheets, breathing heavily. As much as he doesn’t want it, he’s close now and only prays for José to give him the release he needs, prays for it to be over.  
  
José doesn’t intend to let him have it yet, though. He lets go of Fernando's cock and sighs. Fernando is already so desperate that he reaches for his cock himself, dignity be damned, but José swats his hand away.  
  
“The next time you try to do this I’ll have your hands cut off,” he says in a calm voice. “Whores like you don’t need hands anyway.”  
  
Fernando's mouth goes dry. He looks up at José who still looks menacing, to put it mildly. Hesitantly, Fernando slides his arms up and keeps them above his head. The look on José’s face somehow softens.  
  
“I can’t reward you if you don’t give me what I want,” he says.  
  
“What do you want?” Fernando whispers.  
  
“To answer me when I ask you a question,” José says and touches Fernando's cock again.  
  
It’s a feathery touch, but Fernando's hips still buck up on their own. José holds him down.  
  
“Tell me who I should try next,” he says. “Who I would like and why.”  
  
Fernando closes his eyes. He can’t do it, can’t leave any of them at this man’s mercy. Can’t speak of any of them like they are things.   
  
José flicks his wrist and Fernando cries out, the touch bringing back all the pleasure that went away in the last few moments.  
  
“It seems like you don’t want to come tonight,” José states. “I wanted to reward you and send you back, but it seems you’d rather stay here, maybe tied up because you’re so eager to touch yourself.”   
  
Fernando tries to think rapidly, the faces flashing in his mind. He can‘t send Sergio here, not after what he went through because of Fernando. That‘s when he realizes he can‘t betray anyone of them, not even Jesús or Pedro whom he doesn‘t really like, leave alone the quiet Mesut, Javi who practically saved his life, Nacho whom he saw half-dead on the first night and who still managed to smile reassuringly at him.   
  
José gets up and goes to the door. The moment he opens it, a guard appears. José whispers something to him. The guard nods, bows and disappears. José turns back to Fernando.  
  
“I always get what I want,” he says firmly. “Whatever way I have to use.”

 

***

 

The mausoleum is a giant building with the floors made of black marble, mosaic on the walls and golden decorations everywhere. It‘s lit by thousands of candles and from somewhere, a monotonous voice is reciting prayers.   
  
Sergi approaches the white catafalque in the middle of the chamber and touches the marble. It‘s cold under his fingers and his tired mind muses that it‘s not very different from the sultan when he was still alive. Hard, cold and majestic.  
  
“I know every sin has to be paid for,” Sergi whispers. “But I didn’t expect to pay for it so soon.”  
  
He sits on the steps of the catafalque and leans over it.  
  
“I should ask you for forgiveness,” he says. “But I will have the opportunity to ask you face to face soon.”  
  
The voice reciting prayers goes silent for a moment and Sergi knows the readers are now switching. After a while a different voice starts reading, half-reciting, half-singing. Sergi closes his eyes and pulls his knees to his chest.   
  
He falls asleep like that, on the marble floor, curled up next to the sultan’s catafalque.

 

***

 

Fernando's breath hitches when the guard enters again, dragging a sleepy and confused Nacho along. No word is spoken but the guard obviously has his instructions as he ties Nacho‘s hands to a column in the middle of the room, takes out a long whip and starts hitting him. Fernando can‘t even speak, completely shocked.  
  
José lifts his hand after a few lashes and the guard stops.  
  
“Ah, I think I forgot to tell you what this was for,” José drawls.   
  
He folds his arms and looks at Fernando.  
  
“Your friend here thinks that he can outsmart me. I asked him a simple question and he failed to answer me. Let’s see if you are any better.”  
  
He gets on the bed and restarts the ministrations on Fernando's cock. He beckons the guard, who starts whipping Nacho again. José looks almost like he loses interest in him again, focusing on Fernando now.  
  
“Stop!” Fernando cries. “Please, stop!”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about this one, darling, he can take more,” José smirks, flicking his wrist, this time not letting go until Fernando cries out.  
  
He opens his eyes and looks at Nacho’s tear-stained face. He wishes he wouldn’t hear his sobbing and his pleas. José lifts his hand again.  
  
“I was wondering if all of the old sultan’s concubines were as good as he is. I asked him to recommend me someone and tell me why I would like him. But he didn’t tell me anything. Maybe you can?”  
  
Nacho doesn’t miss a beat. Fernando just manages to blink when the words start to spill from his mouth like he cares about no one and nothing. José listens with an amused smirk and then turns to Fernando.  
  
“Look how easy it is,” he says.  
  
He heads to the door and beckons the guard when he’s already half out.  
  
“Untie him. When I come back I don’t want to see any of you here.”  
  
The guard cuts the rope and lets Nacho fall on the cold tiles. Fernando gets off the bed and crouches next to him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Nacho looks at him and bats away the hand with which Fernando was just about to touch him.  
  
“You could have just told him my name,” he says angrily. “Then he would have only fucked me.”

 

***

 

“It’s my fault,” Fernando sobs.   
  
He’s sitting in the common room, hugging a pillow, with Javi consoling him and a few of the other concubines sitting around, curious about what happened. Sergio took it upon himself to take care of Nacho, and Jesús offered to help, to everyone’s surprise.  
  
“Don’t worry about it too much,” Javi says. “It will pass. He just needs to hate someone right now.”  
  
“Well, he is hating the right person, I’d say,” Pedro notes.  
  
“You’re not the right person to give anyone lessons of morals, Pedro,” Javi says quietly.  
  
Pedro makes a face and narrows his shoulders.  
  
“Say whatever you want, because of  _me_  nobody has ever been whipped.”  
  
He exits the room gracefully. Javi shakes his head.  
  
“After the battle, everyone is a general,” he says.  
  
“B-but he’s right,” Fernando whispers. “I was a fool to think he would just drop it.”  
  
“Maybe,” Javi nods. “Truth is that we can’t leave it like this.”  
  
Casemiro laughs humorlessly.  
  
“And what do you want to do?” he asks.  
  
Javi raises his brows.  
  
“Well, for the start I think someone should know that our dear first minister is already considering himself the sultan.”

 

***

 

The hall is full of people. There are all the ministers sitting at a long table, there is also the scribe and the judge. Sergi is sitting on the throne, trying hard to look calm and indifferent, but he feels his heart somewhere in his throat. It‘s been long days since he‘s slept for more than a couple hours and he almost can‘t eat. He feels like he‘s going to pass out at any moment.  
  
The guards bring Marc in. He goes willingly, doesn‘t put up a fight, though he looks like he maybe doesn‘t have the strength to put up any. Sergi glances at him and Marc turns his head away.  
  
“Before we get to the accusations, Xavi has something to say, I’m told,” the first minister says.  
  
Sergi lifts his head in surprise when Xavi walks in.  
  
“Well...” the judge says impatiently and scratches his head. “What is it that you wanted to tell us?”  
  
“I want to tell you that you are about to judge the wrong person,” Xavi says calmly.  
  
“You’re implying that...” the judge says and moves the glasses on his nose.  
  
“I’m implying that the boy didn’t commit high treason because he didn’t murder the sultan. He merely wounded him.”  
  
“Of course, but the wound led to his death,” the judge says patiently like Xavi is a little child.  
  
“No,” Xavi shakes his head. “The wound wasn’t grave enough to cause the sultan’s death. He would have recovered if...”  
  
“If?”  
  
Xavi takes a deep breath.  
  
“If I didn’t give him poison.”  
  
The men around the table jump up from their seats. Sergi’s lips shiver. Xavi lifts his head and looks the judge in the eyes calmly.  
  
“Yes.  _I_  killed the sultan.  _I_  am guilty of high treason and I confess.”


	14. Fourteen

It takes a long time until everyone sits down and the trial can continue. It at least gives Sergi enough time to pull himself together. He doesn’t really listen when they question Xavi because there is nothing that could change the sentence anyway. It’s just for the drama, for their own pleasure, so that they can bathe in their own power.   
  
“What about him?” José asks then and looks at Marc. “He still attempted the murder of the sultan.”  
  
“We do not know if he attempted murder,” Sergi objects. “He wounded him. What if his intention wasn’t to kill him?”  
  
“He was still a part of a conspiracy against the sultan.”  
  
“And the punishment for it shall be?” Sergi asks.  
  
The judge flips a few pages in the book he has in front of him.  
  
“The penal code suggests a hundred lashes or life imprisonment.”  
  
“How is this an equal punishment?” Sergi frowns. “A hundred lashes will kill you surely.”  
  
The judge looks at him like he doesn’t understand what the point is.  
  
“Then it means it’s more merciful than the other punishment,” Sergi says. “I think life imprisonment will be more just.”  
  
For the first time, Marc looks at him. Sergi gives him a small smile.  
  
“Trust me,” he mouths.  
  
Then he turns back to the judge.  
  
“And what about that girl who hid him in her rooms?” he asks. “Where is she?”  
  
“With my concubine I can settle things myself, sire,” José says.  
  
“No, you can’t!” Sergi snaps. “She was as much of an accomplice as the boy and she will have a rightful trial. Bring her in.”  
  
The guards bow and walk out of the hall. They return in a while, with María walking between them. Sergi looks at her.  
  
“So you hid this person in your rooms?” he asks.  
  
“Yes,” María nods.  
  
“And you knew that he had stabbed the sultan?”   
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you have been loyal to your sultan rather than to someone who almost killed him?” Sergi frowns. “It was in  _his_  palace that you lived.”  
  
María takes a breath but Sergi’s look makes her close her mouth again.  
  
“It seems like you took your comfortable life for granted. So you shall be banished from this court and this palace.”  
  
“Sire?” José frowns.  
  
Sergi ignores him completely.  
  
“As I said, you are banished from the court and the palace. You are not allowed past the walls of this palace.”

María looks like an immense weight has just lifted from her shoulders. José gets up from his seat.  
  
“You can’t just take my concubine from me!” he says.  
  
“But minister, nobody is taking her from you,” Sergi says calmly. “I didn’t say anything that could imply she no longer belonged to you. You are of course free to follow her wherever she goes.”  
  
José opens his mouth and closes it again like a fish out of water.  
  
“Besides, I don’t know why you feel so offended for me allegedly taking your concubine from you when you already act like all of  _my_  concubines belong to you.”  
  
“Sire, I would never...” José starts.  
  
“You would never make use of the services of a concubine that belongs to me? You would never hurt another one for your sick pleasure? Then what happened last night must have been someone’s wild imagination,” Sergi raises his brows. “Judge, how can we classify this offense?”  
  
José is just blatantly staring at him. He has no idea how he knows about what happened last night, but what bewilders him even more is that Sergi now wants to judge  _him_.  
  
“It’s... it’s difficult to say, sire,” the judge blurts out.  
  
“With your experience you should be able to tell us,” Sergi retorts. “Let’s say someone takes his neighbor’s horse and uses it to ride to another city, without his permission. How would you classify it?”  
  
“I would say he stole the horse, sire,” the judge says.  
  
“So the first minister stole my concubines, then. I think he should be punished as just. What punishment does the penal code establish for theft?”  
  
The judge looks at him with horror.  
  
“His hands shall be cut off, sire,” he says and glances nervously at José.  
  
“Oh, that is gruesome,” Sergi notes in a flat voice. “But what has to be done, has to be done.”  
  
“You can’t be serious!” José exclaims. “After all I did...”  
  
“That is true,” Sergi nods. “After all, it wouldn’t set a good example if the first minister of this country was a thief. I’ll give you a choice, then.”  
  
“What choice?”  
  
“You will be stripped of your title of the first minister, all of your property will be confiscated and you will leave this country immediately. Or, well, there is the hand cutting the judge suggested earlier.”  
  
José just stares at him. Sergi gives him a look so hateful that nobody would ever believe he was capable of feeling so much hate.  
  
“So, what is your choice?” he asks calmly.

 

***

 

Javi is sitting on the edge of a fountain, looking up to the windows of the big hall almost without blinking. Fernando approaches him carefully.  
  
“They’re still there?” he asks.  
  
“Nobody’s left since morning,” Javi says.  
  
“You don’t believe he will do it, do you?” Fernando whispers.  
  
“He has no choice,” Javi shakes his head. “He can’t give pardon for high-treason. María maybe he can pardon, but not Marc.”  
  
Fernando looks at him.  
  
“What about the first minister?”  
  
Javi just shrugs.   
  
“But you said that you saw the prince... the sultan... in the mausoleum!?” Fernando whispers excitedly. “You told him about what the first minister did?”  
  
“I did,” Javi nods.  
  
“And he?”  
  
“He just kept looking at me. I don’t know if he even heard what I was saying. To be honest, he looked like he would follow the old sultan to the grave soon.”  
  
Fernando sits on the hot stone edge and his shoulders sag. He realizes that he had high hopes for what the sultan’s death would mean for them. It was pure luck that Javi’s and Marc’s plan worked, at least to the point of the sultan’s death, and it was also pure luck that Javi met the new sultan in the mausoleum in the morning, though maybe he went there because he hoped in that tiny possibility of meeting him there. It was the only place he could meet him and talk to him. But now Fernando loses even the hope that it would change anything.

 

***

 

The prison is no less frightening the second time Sergi enters it. Xavi on the other hand is much more serene and seems almost unaffected. He looks at Sergi like they are talking in one of the rooms of the palace, not a prison cell.  
  
“Why did you do it?” Sergi asks in a desperate voice.  
  
Xavi reaches through the bars and touches his shoulder.  
  
“I realized that not you, but  _I_  had a choice. You or me. And you are much more important. You can do great things. You  _will_  do great things.”  
  
He smiles reassuringly.  
  
“I think I made a good choice. Now, and also years ago. I saved the right boy,” he says. “This is my sacrifice. Make it worth it.”  
  
“I will try,” Sergi whispers.  
  
“Do you have a good plan?” Xavi asks and looks him in the eyes. “Do you have a plan to hold the throne and save that boy?”  
  
Sergi nods and takes a deep breath.  
  
“I do. I think... I’m sure that I do.”   
  
“Then I can go in peace,” Xavi says.  
  
Sergi blinks rapidly to stop the tears stinging his eyes.  
  
“It’s a terrible way to go.”  
  
Xavi smiles at him.  
  
“You didn’t really believe I would do this without any trick on my sleeve, did you? Or rather...  _in_  my sleeve.”  
  
He reaches in a secret pocket in his sleeve, pulls out a small vial and winks. Sergi can’t help but smile a little; as hard as it is to accept Xavi will be gone forever, he at least feels relieved that he won’t suffer too much.  
  
“I have one more piece of advice,” Xavi says.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Don’t listen to Pep anymore.”  
  
Sergi smiles sadly.  
  
“I won’t, I promise. I know someone much wiser. And he will be the only one I’ll be willing to listen to.”  
  
As soon as Sergi is gone, Xavi sits in the darkest corner of his cell, unscrews the small cork of the vial and brings it to his lips.

 

***

 

Javi is still sitting in the garden when the sound of rapid steps tears him out of his gloomy thoughts. He lifts his head and gasps.  
  
“María?”  
  
María falls in his arms and sighs like she’s been holding her breath for a long time.  
  
“I don’t have much time,” she says. “The sultan banished me from the palace. I have to leave before sunset.”  
  
“What?” Javi looks at her.  
  
“But you know what it means? It means I no longer belong to the first minister! The sultan punished him for something he did to his concubines. He gave him a choice, either he’d have his hands cut off, or he’d have to leave and lose all his property. He chose the second option, and I was his property! I’m free!”  
  
Javi hugs her. María looks up and smiles.  
  
“Just tell me where I have to go and I’ll wait for you there!” she whispers.  
  
Javi shakes his head with a sad smile.  
  
“Wait for me? You don’t know when I’ll get out of here. If ever.”  
  
“I’ll wait for you even if it takes a lifetime,” María says and kisses him.

 

***

 

Fernando walks in the bedroom and sits on the bed. The sun has just set but he doesn’t feel like being with the other concubines who are now just gossiping about the first minister being sent away from the court. He should maybe celebrate it as well, but he isn’t sure if there is anything to celebrate. Not until the gates of the palace stay closed for him. He actually envies the first minister now.   
  
“Fernando?” a voice sounds next to him.   
  
Fernando almost jumps up. Then he turns his head and looks at Nacho.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m sorry... for what I said yesterday,” Nacho says. “I didn’t mean it... I know it wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“It probably was, actually,” Fernando sighs. “Don’t be sorry. He hurt you because of me. I should be sorry, and I am.”  
  
“At least he paid for it,” Nacho smiles. “It seems like Javi is much stronger opponent than anyone could imagine.”  
  
“But not even Javi can get us out of here.”  
  
“No. Only one person can,” Nacho nods. “But after today, I think we can maybe dare to hope.”


	15. Fifteen

Sergi had thought he would notice the first minister‘s absence more, but actually it only feels like it‘s a bit easier to breathe in the palace. Carles, the new first minister, has no ambitions to try to accumulate power or manipulate people against Sergi. Sergi had noticed him when he was still one of the ministers, and he's always liked his rational way of thinking.  
  
“Everything is set for the coronation, sire,” Carles informs him.  
  
Sergi nods, pretending to be busy with some documents. But in fact, his mind is somewhere else.  
  
“Oh, I just remembered...” he says when Carles is already leaving. “In the occasion of my coronation, I want to grant an amnesty.”  
  
“An amnesty?” Carles blinks.  
  
“Yes. All prisoners that are not awaiting death penalty or other punishment are to be released. Immediately.”  
  
He keeps his eyes on the table, trying to conceal his nervousness. Only when Carles doesn’t speak for a long time, he looks at him.  
  
“Something isn’t clear?” he asks.  
  
“Just... it also includes the boy who stabbed your father, sire.”  
  
“Oh...” Sergi says like he hadn’t thought about it. “Well, then he is simply very lucky.”  
  
“Do you think it will set a good precedent, sire?” Carles asks.  
  
Sergi knows Carles is not a bloodthirsty, cruel bastard who wants people to suffer. He is simply concerned for the country he helps to govern.  
  
“If he really killed my father, I would have no mercy with him, Carles,” Sergi says. “But Xavi killed my father. And he was punished. I believe it wouldn’t be just if two people were to be punished for the same thing.”  
  
“As you wish, sire,” Carles shrugs. “I will pass your orders to the guards.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sergi says.   
  
Carles bows and walks out of the room. Sergi leans back in the golden chair and closes his eyes. The closer the end of the nightmare is, the less he is sure he will ever wake up from it.

 

***

 

The crowd fills the whole courtyard and still not all of the people can fit in. Some of them are packed on the countless balconies and terraces, trying to catch a glimpse of the immense parade and feast that follows the coronation.  
  
Sergi knows that this should be the most important day in his life, he should be overjoyed. But he isn’t, because he never really wished to sit on the golden throne, and all he can do now is to pray for him and Marc to survive this day.  
  
He gets up and the crowd goes silent, looking up to him like whatever comes out of his mouth will change their lives. It might.  
  
“The last time we were celebrating like this was when my father conquered yet another country,” he says. “But we had no right to celebrate.”  
  
The crowd starts to whisper and it sounds almost like the wind blowing in the desert.   
  
“We had no right to celebrate because we had no right to that country,” Sergi continues. “My father thought there was nobody to claim the right to the throne of that country. But there was. There is. And he is here among us today.”  
  
He can’t really see Carles, but can imagine the horrified look on his face. The crowd starts to move slightly, like when someone is pushing past the people.  
  
“My father’s generals thought the son of the sultan was dead because they found a dead soldier with his sword,” Sergi explains. “What they didn’t know is that the soldier wasn’t the sultan’s son, but nephew.”  
  
Then he walks down a few steps and reaches out in the crowd. Marc takes his hand and hops on the terrace. Sergi hopes for the thud behind him to be fainting Carles, for Carles’ own sake.   
  
“The prince wasn’t dead. He is standing next to me now.”  
  
In the middle of the crowd, Sergio and Fernando exchange almost horrified looks, Jesús faints and falls in Pedro’s arms. Javi starts laughing.  
  
Sergi lifts his hand to silence the excited, almost panicking crowd. With the other, he is still gripping Marc’s fingers.   
  
“Some of you may already know this man, as the one who stabbed my father,” he says. “There were many things my father did well and I will gladly follow his example in these. But if there is something I want to change, something I  _can_  change, it’s to stop lying to my people. So I will tell you the truth about this.”  
  
He looks at Marc like he’s looking for permission. Marc gives him a small nod and smiles encouragingly.  
  
“He did stab the sultan. In self-defense. When the sultan tried to rape him.”  
  
It’s mayhem, when the crowd starts shouting all at once, it’s almost deafening. Sergi can still hear the desperate wail Carles lets out. Now he has to almost shout to make himself heard.  
  
“The sultan is the ruler of a country, but he is no god! There are things he doesn’t have the right to do! My father didn’t understand this, but I do!”  
  
Carles finally manages to move and he grips Sergi’s arm.  
  
“For all in the world, sire,” he breathes out. “Shut... be quiet already!”  
  
Sergi looks at him with surprise.  
  
“This is like any other war,” Carles explains. “You don’t just take the soldiers and invade a country. You have to prepare them for it. These people have known nothing but your father’s tyranny for all their lives. You can’t turn their lives upside down all at once!”  
  
“But...” Sergi starts.  
  
“You’ve started, fine, this was a bit too much for the start, let me tell you, but one more word and they will not be grateful, they will turn against you.”  
  
“He’s right,” Marc whispers. “When you let a dog out of the cage, you’ll be the first it will bite.”  
  
Sergi nods, looking for one last time at the crowd that somehow reminds him of boiling water, and then steps back, still not letting go of Marc’s hand. The guards surround them, looking around cautiously.  
  
“Go back to the palace,” Carles mumbles. “I’ll take care of this... somehow.”   
  
He looks around and sighs.  
  
“God help me with it.”

 

***

 

“You knew it!” Jesús yells at Javi and raises his head from the pillow before falling back, waving himself with a fan.   
  
“Not all,” Javi shakes his head. “I knew Marc had a plan, and I suspected there was something between him and the prince. That he was a prince himself I didn’t know.”  
  
“What does it mean for us?” Fernando asks.   
  
Javi shrugs and looks around. The concubines returned to the harem once the guards started to disperse the crowd. Nobody told them anything, because apparently nobody knew anything. The guards and even the ministers seemed to be as shocked as everyone else.  
  
“It could be good if our dear new sultan keeps his word,” Javi says. “But if he lets the ministers sweep this under the rug and convince him to rule the way the old sultan did, then we’re probably going to die here.”  
  
“Do you think Marc would let them?” Fernando asks.  
  
“I don’t know what Marc wants,” Javi says softly. “When he talked about his plan to me, he didn’t really make it clear.”  
  
“What was he supposed to make clear?” Pedro frowns.  
  
“Whether he cared about us, or only about himself, Pedro,” Javi smiles. “With you we’d have known already.”

 

***

 

The moment the guards are gone and the door of Sergi’s rooms closes behind them, Sergi throws his arms around Marc and holds him like he’s afraid he will dissolve into thin air.  
  
“I can’t believe that you’re here,” he whispers.  
  
“You are smarter than I thought,” Marc laughs. “At the trial, I couldn’t imagine you’d find a way out of it for us both.”  
  
“I’d probably never find it without Xavi,” Sergi sighs. “And even what I did today wasn’t really planned. It showed.”  
  
“No, you were amazing,” Marc smiles. “Before, I wasn’t sure you could actually rule a country, but today I did see a ruler.”  
  
Sergi looks at him skeptically and sits on the bed, looking fairly miserable.  
  
“All I did was to almost cause Carles a heart attack.”  
  
Marc laughs and shakes his head.  
  
“No, you did a lot. You stopped lying to your people.”  
  
“That’s not that much.”  
  
“It’s much more than you can imagine.”  
  
He sits on the bed next to Sergi and nudges him until Sergi lifts his head and looks at him.  
  
“Can I have a wish?” Marc asks.  
  
“You can have everything in the world.”  
  
“Let them go,” Marc whispers. “The concubines.”   
  
“Now?” Sergi looks at him wearily.  
  
“Now.”  
  
“Can’t I do it in the morning?” Sergi groans.  
  
“Why not now?” Marc grins.  
  
“Because maybe I won’t do it at all,” Sergi folds his arms. “Unless someone convinces me that I won’t need the concubines’ services any more.”  
  
“Ah, so that’s why!” Marc laughs and pushes him down on the bed. “Well, I can promise that in the morning I’ll have to remind you that you once had concubines!”


	16. Epilogue

Fernando stops in front of a house and looks up.   
  
“What house is this?” Sergio asks behind him.  
  
“It used to belong to my father,” Fernando says quietly. “Before he had to sell it to pay his debts.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sergio says. “That you have no one to come back to.”  
  
“Neither have you.”  
  
“With you it almost feels like I do.”  
  
Fernando smiles. Then he walks inside the house, looking around. Behind the counter and rolls of colorful tissues, an elderly woman is standing, looking at them mistrustfully. They don’t really look like customers.  
  
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the owner,” Fernando says.  
  
“I am the owner now,” the woman says. “My husband died two months ago.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Fernando says, bowing his head slightly. “I came to ask for work.”  
  
“Here?” the woman asks. “And what do you know about this business?”  
  
“Everything,” Fernando replies calmly.  
  
The woman laughs and folds her arms.   
  
“Let’s see,” she says. “Which tissue do you think is the most expensive one?”  
  
Fernando smiles and looks over the counter. He touches several rolls of embroidered tissue and then picks a roll of plain white silk. The woman raises her brows.  
  
“Did I pass the test?” he asks.  
  
“Well,” she says and scratches her head. “Truth is that I’d need a pair of strong hands here. I can’t manage the business alone. And if you really know this...”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“I can’t pay you much, though. But there is a room upstairs you can stay in, and food comes with it.”  
  
“Would you mind if I didn’t stay alone there?” Fernando asks and looks at Sergio. “Maybe one extra pair of hands will come handy sometimes.”  
  
The woman hesitates.  
  
“No pay for him, though,” she says then. “But he can stay.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
She shakes Fernando's hand and then looks at him closely.  
  
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she asks.  
  
“No, I don’t think so, ma’am,” Fernando smiles. “And thank you.”  
  


***

  
  
The sun rises above the city Javi is looking over from a hill. The wind brings the smell of salt and seaweed to him. It almost makes him want to run, but at the same time he’s scared of entering the city. He doesn’t know if or how it has changed while he was away, doesn’t know if there are still people he used to know. Friends, family, he knows nothing of their fates. He almost fears that once he walks through the gates, he will get lost in the streets he once knew so well.  
  
Then the sky changes its color to pink and he knows that the gates are being opened. Gathering his courage, he runs down the hill, joining the merchants on the main road heading with their goods to the market.  
  
The city welcomes him like he left it yesterday. The streets are still the same, the houses made of white stones as well. He walks up, sometimes closing his eyes, trying to imagine the places before he actually sees them. When he reaches the small house that overlooks the sea, the sun is already up and the city alive.  
  
The woman that comes out of the house remains unmoving on the porch, almost like a statue. Only when he makes a few hesitant steps, her hands fly up to her mouth.  
  
“My son,” she whispers. “My son.”  
  
Javi hugs her, lifts her up, noticing how much lighter she feels compared to how he remembers her, kisses her hair that smells of sea salt and citruses. She looks at him, tears glistening in her eyes. Then she steps back and opens the blue-painted door.  
  
“Come here!” she calls inside.  
  
It takes a while before a figure appears in the shadows of the hall, but once she steps into the sunlight, blonde hair shining like pure gold, the simple dress looking so foreign on the slender body, the dark-blue apron over it stained with flour, it feels like all the weight remaining on Javi’s heart has just lifted.  
  
“María.”

 

***

 

The waves are hitting the rocks loudly, the white foam glistening in the sun. To keep at least parts of the protocol, when Xavi took the pleasure of burning him alive from the judge and the ministers, they decided to at least burn his body and scatter the ashes into the sea so that nothing would remain of him on earth.   
  
Sergi is sure Xavi would tell him such grave was as good as any other.   
  
“I wish you knew him,” he whispers. “I owe him so much.”  
  
“ _We_  owe him,” Marc corrects him.  
  
Sergi nods and holds his hand. They keep looking at the waves for a while before turning back and heading where the golden towers of the palace are shining in the sun.  
  
The waves keep hitting the rocks, now carrying orange blossoms on their crests.  
  


THE END.


End file.
